


Serendipity

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Castiel, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Castiel, Blind Character, Christmas, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: Stuck on opposite sides of the country, Dean and Cas make big sacrifices to be together at a special time of the year. However, when they realise that their joint idea of paying a surprise visit to each other's faraway home has left them still trapped miles away from each other, they have to find some way to meet in the middle - and it has to be before midnight if it's going to be perfect...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was loosely inspired by [this story](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Gift_of_the_Magi), on the excellent advice of [thebloggerbloggerfun](https://thebloggerbloggerfun.tumblr.com). thanks, Mich, you're a star <3 hope you like the result!
> 
> a quick disclaimer: I do not know the cities or airports of New York, Kansas City, or Pittsburgh nearly so well as I would like to. I hope you'll show some festive forgiveness to any inaccuracies!

Castiel gripped his coat harder, feeling its familiar softness under his fingertips.

Really, if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t much. Well-made, to be sure; all of the costumes at the Lyceum Theater had been. But it didn’t glitter, or so he’d been told; it wasn’t beautiful.

Then again, Cas reminded himself, not all that glittered was gold - and some things that were gold did not glitter.

He reached out a seeking hand, located his mouse, and ran it over the eBay page that he’d opened up over an hour before. His software read out the details to him: _Tan ‘Angels’ Trenchcoat. Replica. $70._

Sitting back in his chair, Cas pushed both of his hands back into the coat. He furrowed his brow, and for a moment, memories overtook him in a soft wave: memories of being dressed in this coat, standing giddy and restless, waiting in the wings to go onstage at the Lyceum; memories of standing in front of a roaring crowd, hearing them stamp and clap their appreciation all the louder because they knew he could not see it; memories of his friends in the backstage crew helping him out of the coat after the show, clapping him on the back, asking him to go for drinks - memories of one particular stage grip’s laugh, the smell of his cologne -

Most of all, the pervasive underlying feeling of sheer _luck._ the pure and incredible luck of finding a stage show willing to hire a young, blind, inexperienced actor in the lead role. The luck of the show gaining a cult following. The luck of having been there, in that place, with the scent of stage dust in his nose and the thrum of a thousand people’s indrawn breaths as he stood, alone, on the boards before them...

And then, of course, Cas thought to himself wryly, the bad luck. The show’s run ending, and that being the end of that. No more dizzy late-night parties; no more glamour, no more thrill. Cas understood; he’d been a gimmick, a blind man playing an angel, a beautiful symbol that the show could push and sell - and when the next show, and the one after that, were comedies and histories into which such _symbolism_ could not be artfully foisted, there was no point hiring him. No one came knocking on Cas’ door.

No one, of course, except the stage-grip with the laugh and the cologne, and the warm handshake, and the thornless roses (“you wouldn’t have been able to see them... you could’ve hurt yourself”), and the big stomping boots, and the clumsy hands, and the gentle lips. No matter how badly his career as an actor failed in the months after _Angels_ ended, Cas could never regret having tried, for many reasons - but above all, above everything else, because it was through the attempt that he had met Dean.

“What do I look like, on the stage?” Cas remembered asking, that first night they ever went out together; the rest of the backstage crew and a couple of the other actors had been there in the bar too, but they might as well have been wallpaper for all the attention Dean and Cas were paying them.

“Look like?” Dean had said, his voice warm and private; there had been a clench in Cas’ chest because Dean’s words were spoken to _him,_ and only for him.

“Do I act well? I’ve never known… I try, but - well, you see my issue,” Cas had finished dryly.

“You act great,” Dean had said, and then Cas had heard him take a sip of beer from his bottle. He’d curled his fingers into his palms, thinking about what it would feel like to touch Dean’s lips. “You act… like nothing I’ve ever seen, actually. Your face doesn’t move much, you know? And your voice isn’t like other actors’. You don’t, you know, declaim, and roll your r’s. But there’s just… you’re honest. When you’re on the stage and saying you’re an angel…” Cas had heard the shift of leather, and thought that possibly Dean had shrugged. “I don’t know,” Dean had finished, a little roughly. “I believe you.”

Cas had wanted to kiss Dean then, but it had taken him another hour and a half to work up the courage. Dean’s lips had been soft. He’d tasted fresh and sweet, and Cas had realised he’d eaten a mint to take the taste of beer out of his mouth.

“You knew I was going to kiss you?” he’d asked, when he’d pulled away. He’d lifted his fingertips and touched Dean’s lips lightly, to find them smiling.

“If you hadn’t kissed me,” Dean had said, the gentle words sounding clumsy and sweet in his gruff voice, “then I was going to ask if _I_ could kiss _you_.”

Cas had lived on Cloud Nine for weeks, on the strength of that night. And even when the Lyceum closed their run of _Angels,_ even when all his auditions failed, even when grating voices over the phone told him that _we have no scripts with blind people in them,_ even so - there was a part of him that none of it could touch. A part that Dean kept safe, in those hands of his - which, it turned out, were only clumsy with nerves. When Dean wasn’t quite so full of smitten butterflies, his hands were steady and strong.

And then, on top of it all - on top of the rent being overdue, and Cas’ agent dropping him, and no work whatsoever appearing on the horizon to save him - Dean had had to go home. Kansas wasn’t so far away from New York, but it might as well have been darkest Peru for all the likelihood that either of them could ever raise the funds to visit. All Dean’s money got poured into his brother’s college fund, and Cas never had any to start off with.

And that brought Cas back to the present: sitting at his cracked, whirring laptop, drinking water out of a chipped glass in his holey pyjamas, with his hands fisted tightly in the only thing he had of any value. The only thing he had to prove that those days he remembered so clearly, those dizzying halcyon days of acting and laughing and falling in love, had been real at all.

The only thing that he could possibly sell, and have enough money to buy a flight and make it to Kansas for Christmas.

Cas swallowed hard. The coat was one of a kind; if replicas were selling for $70 - and selling quickly, too - the real thing that he’d worn every night for eleven months should fetch a higher price. He’d got a neighbour to snap some shots of it on his phone, making sure to ask for a nice clear picture of the label, which should prove the coat’s authenticity to the knowledgeable observer.

All that remained was to actually _sell_ it. He’d put it off and put it off, and now here he was - on the morning of Christmas Eve. It was now or never. If he didn’t put it up for sale today, it would be too late.

Cas took in a deep breath, and released it. His hold on the coat loosened slightly as he imagined the surprise in Dean’s gruff voice when he saw Cas standing outside his home in Kansas, and the feeling of being wrapped in his arms again. Talking with him. Kissing him. Being _near_ him, near in a way that their daily phone calls just couldn’t touch.

Setting his jaw, Cas made up his mind. He moved the mouse across the screen, clicked through links, and waited for his software to read out what he was looking for in its flat, robotic voice: _make available for sale._

 _It was just a coat_ , Cas told himself. _Only a coat_. It would be easier to believe it when he was standing in front of Dean.

The first bids started to roll in. Fans of the show were snowballing the price.

Clutching the coat hard, Cas pressed his lips together, and tried to concentrate on the future.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean, one state away in a beaten-up car dealership, shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. This was the only outward sign he allowed himself to give that he was uncomfortable with the proceedings.

“So… drove her all the way from Kansas, didja?”

“Yup,” Dean said, and his voice came out sounding strange. “She goes like a dream.”

“No kidding. So we’re settled, then?” said the big, bearded man with the kind eyes and the battered baseball cap, who worked behind the front desk of the dealership. He pushed a piece of paper over the counter for Dean to sign.

Dean looked down at it, his vision a little muzzy with disbelief. Was he really going to do this?

“I’ll give you a second to think about it, alright, son,” the man said, pulling away from the counter, leaving Dean alone with the pen in his hand, the form on the counter. Dean tried to offer the guy a smile of thanks as he left, but it felt a lot more like a grimace than anything else.

The simple fact of the matter was this: Dean had driven from Kansas to Pennsylvania on the tips he’d been scrounging at his second job as a bartender for the past few months - but now they were all but gone. He had enough change to feed into a vending machine somewhere and grab a candy bar to stave off his hunger pangs, but nowhere near enough to fill up the tank of his - of his car, his 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and take her all the way to New York.

And he really, _really_ wanted to reach New York.

He’d thought about parking up the Impala somewhere, trying to hide her, and then hitchhiking - but eventually, he’d figured that she’d be safer locked up in a garage. And that was the decision that had brought him to this point: staring down at a form that told him in clear black letters on starchy white paper that he was trading in his Chevy for a beaten-up Ford Ka with a full tank of gas and a few hundred dollars on top. It was a pitiful deal on his end, and he knew it - but the dealer could sense the desperation coming off him in waves, and wouldn’t up his price. Dean knew he had nowhere else to go. In truth, he was lucky that he’d finally run out of gas in a town, rather than in the middle of nowhere - and lucky, too, that town did have even one car dealership.

The blank line at the foot of the form begged for his signature. Dean twirled the pen awkwardly in his hands, the weight of this decision making them clumsy.

“Clumsy hands,” Dean could suddenly hear, the voice of Castiel completely clear in his head. “How are you a stage grip with clumsy hands?”

“They aren’t so clumsy most of the time, alright,” Dean remembered replying, picking up the glass that he’d knocked over onto their fancy restaurant table. “Only when I’m… you know.”

“Drunk?”

“Uh…”

 _It’s too soon for truth_ , Dean remembered thinking. _I can’t tell him how I feel._

“Yeah,” he’d said, taking his third swig of beer all evening, feeling the butterflies in his stomach roll and flutter when Cas tilted his head. Official first dates were _hard._ “Yeah, when I’m drunk.”

Cas had paused.

“If you don’t want to do this…” he’d said, and under the flatness of his tone Dean had heard a strain. Before he’d thought twice, his hand had been reaching across the table, wrapping over Cas’.

“There’s nowhere I want to be but here,” he’d said, surprising himself with his own quiet vehemence. He’d consciously softened his voice. “Trust me.”

Cas hadn’t looked convinced, and Dean had swallowed hard.

“I’m not drunk,” he’d said. “I just - I’m… I’m not usually much good at stuff like this. And I need to be, ‘cause I want this date to go well.” It was just shy of one percent of what he felt, but it was a start.

Cas’ frown had broken, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Dean had had the sensation of having made something better by being honest. He’d clenched Cas’ hand even tighter.

“I like you,” Cas had said, bluntly, and then awkwardly paused. Dean had sat blinking into the tense silence for a few moments, before a giddy laugh had bubbled up out of his chest.

“I like you too,” he’d said, and Cas had dipped his head, biting his lip to hold back a bright smile.

“I’m blushing.” It had been true; Cas’ cheeks had been brushed over with pink. Dean had squeezed Cas’ fingers, and then raised them to his face.

“Don’t know if you can feel that,” he’d said, “but I think my face is on fire.”

The backs of Cas’ fingertips had lingered, brushing against Dean’s cheeks. The shiver that went up Dean’s back had relieved some of his nerves, turned the butterflies’ wings to gold.

“I feel it,” Cas had said softly, his bright blue sightless eyes looking just over Dean’s shoulder.

Dean snapped back to reality with one hand on his cheek, the ghost of Cas’ touch giving him a little lingering warmth even in the bitter cold of the shabby car dealership lobby. He looked around the bland, dimly-lit room, his chest tight. Should he sell the Impala? _Could_ he? Could he bear to leave her here, in this place?

His father would kill him.

Sam… Dean had no idea what Sam would do. Feel conflicted, probably. Dean thought that Sam probably loved the Impala just as much as John did - though for different reasons - and would hate to see it lost. But if John started coming down hard about the decision, Dean knew he could trust Sam to have his back.

Above all - what with Dean pouring all his money into getting Sam to college despite their father’s wishes - Sam would want Dean to do what he needed to make himself happy, for once. Right?

Dean clenched his teeth together. On the other hand, his little brother might be pissed beyond measure if Dean sold something as important as the Impala, just to go see someone that Sam had never even met before in his life.

With a curse, Dean pulled out his phone, and hit speed dial one.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Sammy,” Dean said. “It’s me.”

“ _Are you there yet? Did you find him?_ ”

“No, man…” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m in Pennsylvania. I’m out of gas. Out of money.”

Sam was silent on the other end of the phone.

“ _Do you have anything with you? Any credit cards? Could you…_ ”

“Not before tomorrow. I’m out of options,” Dean said. He swallowed hard. “Except…”

There was another silence, a tenser one. Then -

" _Sell her,_ ” Sam said, his voice hard.

“Sammy -” Dean said, and then stopped, his throat tight. Of course Sam knew without Dean having to say it - of course he’d figured out the only way for Dean to find some cash, in two seconds flat.

“ _Dean... I know how much she means to you. But Cas... he means more, right?_ ”

Dean stopped and blinked at the swift, frank way that Sam said it - like it was obvious.

“Uh. But - but she’s _Baby,_ Sam, she’s been with us for so long… I don’t know -”

“ _Remember when you called me after your first date with Cas?”_

Dean huffed out a laugh, remembering that phone call - remembering the feeling of the phone against his ear, the coldness of the New York night, walking back to his flat and telling Sam everything he could think of about Cas, just because he had to talk about him, had to tell _someone_ how awesome Cas was.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And the time Cas walked thirty blocks in the rain with his stick to surprise you at work?”

Dean could still remember watching Cas walk, sopping wet and carrying dripping roses, through the door of the bar where he’d worked nights. _Your texts sounded sad,_ was the only explanation he’d give.

“Yeah,” Dean said thickly. “I remember that.”

“ _Sell the car, Dean._ ”

Dean let out a long, slow breath.

“And you won’t - you don’t mind? For yourself?”

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, and then he sighed, the sound a wave of static over the line.

“ _Dean… I love that car. But she’s always been mostly important to me because she was important to you. I could see how much you loved her, so I cared about her too. And now… I guess the same is true about Cas.”_

Dean blinked hard, his jaw tightening, and nodded.

“Uh huh,” he managed.

“ _Aw, are you crying? Do you want a huggie-wug?_ ”

“OK, I’m hanging up.”

Sam laughed. “ _You’re doing the right thing, Dean._ ”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll call you on Christmas. Do your homework.”

“ _I always do._ ”

“Nerd,” Dean said, and quickly hung up before Sam could make a comeback. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he picked up the pen.

He put it on the paper. If he signed, the Impala didn’t belong to him any more.

“Still didn’t decide?” said the bearded man in the cap, coming back around to stand behind the desk.

“She’s - it’s not easy to sell her,” Dean said. Even now, with Sam’s blessing, part of him just didn’t want to let go.

“You have to?”

“I’m roadtripping to surprise my partner for Christmas. I’m all out of options.”

“Yeah. I heard you say so on the phone.” The man nodded sympathetically. “Look. I’ll do you a deal. I won’t sell her on for three months after you give her to me, alright? Gives you time to make up the money, come back and get her. How’s that?”

Dean let out a breath, willing the thickness in his throat to pass.

“Thanks,” he muttered, barely able to meet the man’s gaze. “I would appreciate that, sir.”

The man smiled.

“S’Christmas,” he said. “Or almost. And most people call me Bobby round here, not ‘sir’.” He held out his hand, and Dean shook it firmly.

“Thank you,” he said again, trying to stop it from coming out too warm, too forward. “Really, I - thank you.” Dean had no idea whether he would be able to get the money to buy back the Impala, but the fact that he could have some hope - that she wasn’t absolutely and definitely lost forever - that meant Dean could sign the form without feeling as though he was gutting himself in the process. He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page.

He drove away fifteen minutes later in the little Ford Ka, feeling ridiculously oversized in its tiny interior. But according to Bobby - who had inexplicably pressed a sandwich into his hand before he left, and a map of New York - it was the one of the most economical cars out there.

Dean tried to hold onto that fact later that night, when he attempted settling down to sleep in it and found himself stretched diagonally, one leg hooked up over the headrest of the passenger seat. He was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t turn off straight away; he was parked in a car lot close to what seemed to be a vaguely seedy bar about three hours out of New York, and it was noisy. His thoughts churned.

What if he didn’t get the money, and never saw Baby again?

What if this little rustbucket broke down, and he never made it to New York?

What if he made it to New York, but Cas didn’t want to see him?

What if -

“Good things do happen, Dean,” said Cas’s voice in his mind. Dean swallowed, and readjusted himself in the car. He pulled the several blankets he’d laid over himself a little closer. Yes, good things did happen. Good things _were_ happening. He had a chance of getting Baby back. He had a gorgeous boyfriend waiting to be surprised tomorrow, at Christmas, just a few hours’ drive away. He was going to get to see Cas again, hold him again, talk to him again - in person, speaking with their bodies as well as their words.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and flicked through it to find _Cas_ on Messenger.

> _Hey sorry I couldn’t call today. Missed u. I’ll speak to u tomorrow?_

He typed the message out quickly and sent it. It was read only a few seconds later. Dean watched the dots roll as Cas dictated his reply, feeling his heart warmed just at the thought of Cas seeing his message - of Cas, sitting in his tiny apartment a few hours away, with no idea that Dean was so close.

< _I missed you_ _too. Yes let’s talk tomorrow._

Dean smiled and sent a few red hearts, which Cas returned with three kisses. If only he knew exactly _how_ they’d be talking tomorrow - together again, in the city that had brought them together.

It was all going to be perfect.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas stood in line for the coffee shop, hiding the bags under his eyes behind cheap sunglasses. His white stick was usually enough for people to be able to tell that he was blind, but when he was travelling, he liked to make it as obvious as possible - in crowded places like airports, people tended to knock into him unexpectedly and throw him off balance.

He tried not to think too hard about the fact that he’d never travelled anywhere near as far as Kansas on his own before. He would be _fine._ He just had to ask someone for directions to his gate, that was all.

“‘Scuse me, buddy, the line’s moved up.” A hand on Cas’ elbow guided him forward a pace, and then released him.

“Sorry,” Cas said, half-turning.

“No need to be,” said the person behind him cheerfully. She sounded friendly enough, and Cas relaxed a little. In the melee of the airport, it was harder for him to pick out individual sounds, to shape them into an understanding of the space - but, he reminded himself, people were kind. He didn’t need to panic.

“You here on your own?” said the woman behind him, sounding concerned. Cas drew himself up tall.

“I am,” he said. “I frequently travel alone.” Well, he took the bus sometimes, anyway.

“Oh,” said the woman, sounding castigated. “Sorry… didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, it’s alright,” Cas assured her. The woman was silent; without sight, it was hard to completely tell, but Cas thought that the silence might be an awkward one. He decided to break it. “Actually, I am a little nervous. Sorry to snap at you.”

“Oh, hey,” the woman said, concern in her voice. “Don’t apologise. Do you have someone you can call?”

“No, no,” Cas said. It was difficult to tell her age - he thought maybe around the same age as him, in her early twenties, perhaps. She sounded sweet, and a little bit tough. “I’m meeting someone at the other end of the flight. My partner. I’ll be fine.”

“Oooh, your partner?” she said, and Cas could hear the smile in her voice. “Take a step forward… that’s right. Are you going to meet up for Christmas?”

“Yes,” Cas said, and once he started thinking about it, he couldn’t help telling her more - the excitement bubbled up inside him irrepressibly. “We haven’t seen each other for months, actually. We used to both live in New York, but not anymore.”

“So you’re headed to...?”

“Kansas,” Cas said happily. “He lives in Kansas.”

He felt a sudden swoop of fear. The pronoun had slipped out without him even thinking twice about it - but if the woman decided she didn’t want to talk to him anymore, if she even started to curse him out, then he would have no way to get away from it -

“That’s adorable,” the woman pronounced, without skipping a beat. “He sounds like one lucky guy to have someone so in love with him. I can’t even get my girlfriend off the couch for dinner most evenings.”

Cas felt the warmth, sudden and intense, of finding an unexpected comrade. He dipped his head in a smile.

“I’m the lucky one,” was all he said. “Lucky to have met him at all.”

“Oh, that is too sweet. One more step forward…” she said, and then someone else spoke in his direction - a lower, rougher tone, from in front of him.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Coffee. Americano,” Cas said, in the direction of the voice. “Venti, please.”

He dug in his pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding his cane. He was feeling flush for cash in the wake of discovering, this morning, that his coat had sold for four hundred dollars. He’d wrapped it up in cellophane, printed out a copy of the Washington State address, and dropped it off with his neighbour - who’d agreed to take it to the post office the next day - before heading to the airport. _It’s gone_ , he thought. _Done_. And now he was wearing his two thickest sweaters, because he’d had no other coat, and he was ordering large coffees with what remained of the money after buying the ticket to Kansas. He felt a little dizzy with the speed of it.

“Here you go, brother,” said the barista. His voice had a low, southern twang. “That’s six bucks.” Cas held up a ten dollar bill; a hand gently tugged it out of his fingers, and pressed a hot styrofoam cup into his palm instead. Cas gripped it tightly.

“Keep the change,” he said.

“Really?” the barista said, sounding confused. “You want me to put it in the charity box or something?”

“Do whatever you like with it,” Cas said. “It’s for you.” It was partly to save himself the trouble of putting down either the coffee or his stick to take the four dollars in return, and partly because it was Christmas, and he was seeing Dean later, and he had a little money in his pocket.

“For me? What’d I ever do?” the barista chuckled.

“You made me coffee,” Cas said. “Anyway, it’s Christmas.”

“He’s going to see his partner,” the woman behind him in the queue leaned forward to confide. “It’s going to be a surprise. They haven’t seen each other in months, how cute is that? Oh, um, a latte macchiato. Tall, please.”

“That’s really something,” the barista agreed, and Cas heard the clinking of metal and the hiss of the coffee machine.

“Well - merry Christmas,” Cas said, raising his cup in the direction of the barista. “Thanks again.”

“And to you,” the barista replied, and Cas smiled to hear the warmth in his voice. “Hey - here -” Cas felt something being tucked into his hand, beside the coffee mug.

“What’s that?” he said, uncertainly. It didn’t seem likely to him that the barista would play a trick, but his years of experience had taught him to be wary.

“It’s a plastic plant thing from the Christmas decorations on the counter,” said the woman behind him, her hand rising to rest lightly on his elbow again, reassuring.

“Mistletoe. For your Kansas beauty!” the barista said, with a laugh in his voice. “I hope she’s worth the distance!”

Cas felt the hand on his elbow squeeze ever so slightly, and he quirked a small smile, sharing the age-old joke of accidental secrecy with the woman behind him.

“Thank you,” was all he said, not wanting to cause trouble or turn the moment sour. “It’ll be worth it. I’d better get to my gate…”

“Let me just -” the woman had a hurried exchange with the barista, and then her hand was back on Cas’ elbow. “Here, let me take you to your gate. What’s your flight number? I’m Jo, by the way.”

Cas allowed himself to be guided, the coffee cup still held carefully in one hand, towards his gate. Jo had a fast-paced, sparky way of talking, but her hand was steady under his arm and she led him unerringly through the crowds.

“Here we go,” she said, as Cas lowered himself into a seat outside Gate 14. “Perfect. You’re right next to the desk, so when they call for boarding, just get up and tell them you’re going to need assistance getting onto the plane, OK?”

“I could manage,” Cas said mildly, and then smiled. “But thank you. I will.” He heard Jo shift in front of him, perhaps putting her hands on her hips.

“Listen - I don’t know if this is forward, but - can I give you my number?”

Cas felt his certainty in the growing trust between them suddenly crumble away.

“Um,” he said awkwardly. “I’m - I told you, I’m going to fly out to see my -”

“Oh - oh, God, no, wait,” Jo said, her voice suddenly tight with embarrassed laughter. “No! I didn’t mean - I meant, can I give you my number, because - because I’d really like to know if you make it to Kansas, and… I don’t know… you said you didn’t have anyone to call in New York, and I don’t like thinking of you having no one. Just doesn’t seem… I don’t know... safe? So…” She trailed away awkwardly, but Cas was already nodding, taken aback.

“That’s - that’s very kind of you,” he said. “Really - that’s - that’s very kind.”

She sat down next to him and he pulled out his phone; she dictated her number to him, as he sat quietly wondering at his good luck. Out of all the people who could have been behind him in the queue for coffee…

“Thank you,” Cas said - not enough words to express his gratitude, but without a script in his head, saying things properly was harder.

“It was lovely meeting you,” Jo said, with a suddenly graceful simplicity and genuineness. Cas could hear that she was angled to face him in her seat. She huffed out a little laugh. “Man, I’m glad I decided to stop for coffee after dropping off my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend’s leaving you for Christmas?” Cas asked, unable to keep the note of horror out of his tone.

“Oh - well - yeah. She’s got to go back to her family. Near Pittsburgh,” Jo said. Cas heard her stand up, a little too suddenly for her to still be feeling happy, he thought.

“Oh,” he replied, somewhat lamely.

“They don’t know she’s - they don’t know about me. She’s coming back tomorrow. She’s always with me for as long as she can be.” Jo sounded strained; Cas, used to reading feelings in voices rather than faces, could hear the weight of her sadness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, losing his words again. He heard Jo sniff.

“Yeah, well. It is what it is. Maybe next year, she’ll tell them, and we’ll be able to spend Christmas together. It’s what Christmas is about, you know? Being together. That’s why _you_ are doing the right thing, Cas.”

Cas nodded, and felt her hand squeeze his shoulder one last time.

“You’ve got my number. I’ll be here in New York. Call me if anything comes up, OK?”

“I will. You’ve been more than kind. Thank you, Jo.”

She left him, the beat of her footsteps fading quickly away as she headed out of the airport. For a little while, Cas couldn’t help but let his thoughts linger on her - waiting, alone, in her apartment, as her girlfriend celebrated with her family somewhere far away. Did Jo not have any family herself? Probably not, Cas thought, judging from the way she hadn’t mentioned any consolatory time she’d be spending with relatives today. So it would just be her, all alone.

Cas pulled out his phone and navigated through to his messages.

 _Was nice to meet you. Thank you. Merry Christmas Jo,_ he dictated, and sent. He hoped it would at least make her smile. Within a few moments, a message had pinged back. Cas reached for the headphones that he had in the shoulder bag resting on his lap, and plugged them in.

“Glad I met you. Merry Christmas to you and your Kansas beauty,” read out his phone through his earbuds, and Cas smiled. Good.

And then suddenly, the phone was vibrating in his hand - so unexpectedly that he almost dropped it, but he managed not to jump.

“Dean calling,” announced his phone through his headphones, and Cas felt a little swoop of excitement and nerves. Should he answer? It probably wasn’t wise; if Dean heard the hustle and bustle of the airport, then he might figure out what Cas was planning to do…

After a moment of indecision, he said quickly, “Pick up.” Wise or not, he could never resist picking up the phone to Dean.

“ _Hey, babe,_ ” Dean said, and Cas was immediately smiling softly, just at the sound of the morning roughness in his boyfriend’s voice.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said warmly. “How are you? How’s your Christmas?”

“ _Great!_ ” Dean said. “ _Yeah, yeah, really good._ ”

“Did you give Sam his gift yet?”

“ _Uh - yeah, yeah, he loved it!_ ” There was something a little amiss in Dean’s tone, Cas thought. Maybe he suspected something? No, that couldn’t be it. More likely he was just feeling the distance between them more keenly today. _It won’t be long before I see you,_ Cas longed to say. _Wait just a few hours, I’ll be there._ He cleared his throat. “ _So, uh, Cas, you’re at home all day today, right?”_

“Um,” Cas said, surrounded by the sounds of the airport. “Yes?”

“ _Are you there now? I can hear…_ ”

“No, I’m… at the supermarket,” Cas improvised. “Buying food. At the supermarket.”

“ _Oh? They open today?_ ”

“They - the little one down by my place does, yes,” Cas said.

“ _What, the Greek artisinal place? What are you going for, some kinda Greek Orthodox Christmas meal?_ ”

“Yes,” Cas said, deadpan.

“ _Well, it’s not the weirdest thing you’ve ever done,_ ” Dean said affectionately. “But you don’t have anywhere else you’re going today?”

“No,” Cas said slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“ _Oh - oh, nothing,_ ” Dean said, airily. “ _Just, you know, wanted to know how many times I should call to check you’re having lots of Christmas fun_.”

Cas’ expression shifted from suspicion into affection.

“Enjoy Christmas with your family, Dean,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t mind being alone all that much. We can talk later, alright?”

“ _You got it_ ,” Dean said, sounding more pleased than Cas would have expected. Was he happy that they weren’t going to talk today? That didn’t sound like Dean.

“I’d better go,” Cas said, hearing a lot of footsteps heading his way. They were probably about to open the gate.

“ _Right. Greek food waits for no man, huh?_ ”

“Exactly.”

“ _Well, I’ll let you get on with it, then._ ”

“Dean?” Cas said quickly, knowing Dean’s tendency to hang up too fast without saying goodbye.

“ _Yeah?_ ”

Cas paused, not even sure what he wanted to say.

“I - um. Merry Christmas,” he said, a little lamely.

“ _Merry Christmas, Cas_ ,” Dean replied, his voice so warm and familiar that it made Cas smile, made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“I love you,” he said.

“ _Yeah_ ,” said Dean. “ _I love you too. I’ll see you later - talk to you, I mean, like - talk to you later, OK?_ ”

Cas’ smile widened. Dean had mostly got over being flustered around him, but whenever they got too emotional, the shy, blushing Dean that Cas had first met seemed to reappear.

“Bye, Dean.”

“ _Bye, babe. Take care_.”

Cas hung up, and spent a few moments working through the absence of Dean on the end of the line. He took a sip of the coffee still clutched in his hand, and accidentally poked himself in the cheek with the sprig of fake mistletoe that the barista had given him. Tucking his phone into his pocket, Cas tugged the sprig out from between his palm and the coffee cup, rolling it between his fingertips.

He smiled to himself. The first thing he was going to do when he had Dean alone was hold this mistletoe up above his head. He could almost feel the warm, soft press of Dean's kiss on his lips, even now.

“This is a call for flight four seven zero,” said a voice over a tannoy, crackly and cheerful, “from New York to Kansas City, departing at nine o’clock. This flight is now boarding. Please bring your ticket or boarding pass to the desk at Gate Fourteen B.”

Cas pushed the sprig of mistletoe into his shoulder bag, making sure not to crush it, and reached for his white cane. Standing up, he began to move towards the direction of voices.

This was it, he thought. He was off. And in a few more hours, he'd be in the same city as Dean.

He shivered slightly. It was colder without his coat.


	4. Chapter 4

The traffic in New York was just as bad as Dean remembered - although, Dean had to admit, it was easier to navigate it in the little Ford Ka than it had ever been in a big Chevrolet Impala. He tried not to think about that too hard, though; thoughts of Baby were still a little too hard to stomach.

He focused instead on Cas - Cas, who was sitting alone in his apartment right now, apparently eating some kind of Greek Christmas meal, probably planning to spend most of the day searching for audition opportunities or listening to the radio.

He was going to freak the hell out, Dean thought smugly, when he realised who was knocking on his door. He was going to freak  _ out.  _ This was even better than that time Cas had surprised him at work - better than the time Dean had made Cas a three-tier birthday cake - better than the surprise birthday party Dean had thrown for Cas on his twenty-second birthday. This was going to be the best thing that either of them had ever done for the other. It was even going to make selling Baby worth it.

Not that Dean planned on telling Cas that he’d done that. Cas knew how much the car meant - it’d make him sad to think of it being lost. Most days, Dean didn’t get to have much of a say in whether or not Cas was sad - not when he was so far away. But today, at Christmas, he knew he was giving Cas something that would make him absolutely fantastically happy. He didn’t want to spoil that, not in any way.

He lost himself in daydreams of how their greeting would go. Dean planned on there being some stunned silence, some hugging, probably a few tears - and kissing, lots of kissing, yeah, and Cas would kiss him like he did when he  _ meant  _ something with it, pulling him close, one of his hands on the back of Dean’s neck, strong and large and warm and -

A good kind of shiver went up Dean’s back. He drove a little faster.

The Greek supermarket passed by the window, and Dean smiled at it, his heart beginning to thud harder in his chest. Not long, now - not long until he was there -

He drew up outside the building, and parked his little Ford Ka next to the pavement. After a moment, he begrudgingly patted the steering wheel.

“Not bad,” he said. The fuel tank was looking low again, but Dean didn’t care. He was  _ here.  _ He’d made it - all the way from Kansas to New York City.

He got out of his car and walked over the pavement to Cas’ building in a kind of happy haze, his legs feeling a little wobbly underneath him. He was so close, now. Should he call before he knocked? No, he’d been through this a hundred times in his mind, he was just going to knock and let the rest happen. He took the stairs, eyeing the grubby old elevator suspiciously as he passed. He hadn’t forgiven it for breaking on New Year’s Eve the year before, with himself and Cas inside it.

Before he was even truly ready, he found himself walking a path that was surreally familiar - the corridor that led to Cas’ door. He raised his fist as he drew close, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. He cleared his throat, and shifted - ran his hand through his hair, pulled his leather jacket straight. Took a deep breath, and let it go.

_ Ready. _

He knocked. The same knock they always did, same pattern. Dean closed his eyes for a second, imagining Cas inside - hearing that knock, and sitting stunned for a second, wondering if it were possible. Getting up, and coming to the door. Putting out his hand, reaching for the door handle, and…

Dean blinked his eyes open.

The door was still closed.

Dean stared at it for a second, puzzled. Maybe - maybe Cas hadn’t heard him. Too busy cooking his Greek feast, or something. He rapped on the door a second time.

Twenty seconds of silence passed.

Cas had  _ said  _ he’d be in - hadn’t he? What if he’d changed his mind, and gone for a walk, or something? Dean chewed his lip, trying to think of a practical plan before the disappointment really set in. It had been going to be perfect - ah, but it still could be, Dean just had to go downstairs and wait in the Ford. Cas wouldn’t recognise it, and when he came back from wherever he was, Dean could sneak upstairs after him and surprise him just like he’d planned.

_ Perfect. _

Dean turned around, and was met by the sight of a slim, red-haired girl peering out through an open slice of doorway across the hall. Cas’ neighbour, Dean remembered. Anna.

“Hey,” he said, smiling a little weakly. “How’s it going, Anna? Merry Christmas!”

“Dean,” Anna said blankly. She’d always been a little eccentric, Dean thought, but she seemed even more wide-eyed and quiet than usual.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’s Dean. Hey, have you seen Cas?”

But Anna was shaking her head.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said agitatedly. “You’re supposed to be in Kansas.”

“Well, I was there,” Dean said soothingly, as she stepped further out of her doorway, looking completely disconcerted. “But I drove here - to see Cas, you know?”

“You’re supposed to be in Kansas,” Anna repeated. She wrung her hands. “Really - you’re not supposed to be here!”

“Anna - what’s going on? Are you okay?” Dean said, walking forward and putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Is something wrong? Did something happen to Cas? Anna -”

“It’s supposed to be a secret,” Anna said, her hand over her mouth. She looked white as a sheet. “I can’t - oh, God, he sold his coat and everything - Dean, you need to call him. Call Cas, now.”

“Call him? Anna, what the hell is going on?” Dean could feel the hallway starting to spin around him. “Is he in trouble? What the hell do you mean, sold his coat? Is he in debt? Did someone - did he take out a loan, did he miss his payments? What -”

“No, no, no,” Anna said, shaking her head furiously. “Just - Dean, call him.” She looked down at her watch, and then nodded. “Dean -  _ call him _ . I can’t be the one to tell you.”

Dean found himself staring at her for a long moment of horrified silence, and then he drew his phone out of his pocket, and hit speed dial two.

_ Ring ring. _

Anna’s face was still stricken, her gaze locked on his; she was wordless and pale.

_ Ring ring. _

Dean’s hand was shaking.

_ Ring ring. _

Where was he? What if he was in the hospital, what if -

_ Ring r- _

“ _ Hello? _ ”

“Oh, my God, Cas,” Dean said, feeling himself go weak-kneed with relief. “Jesus Christ.”

“ _ Dean? Is everything alright? _ ”

“Fucking hell, I - I don’t know. Where the hell are you?”

“ _ I’m - _ ” Dean heard Cas pause, and take a breath. “ _ Well, I was going to be the one to call you and surprise you, but - but I could actually use your help. _ ”

“My help,” Dean said, confused. Anna was still staring at him, her hand over her mouth. “What help?” Why did Cas sound so happy?

“ _ Dean, are you sure you’re alright? You sound - _ ”

“Cas, just tell me what’s going on,” Dean said, trying not to be too terse.

“ _ Well - would you be willing to drive to Kansas City Airport? Because you have something waiting for you there. _ ”

The line sounded smug and rehearsed, and it took Dean the space of a sighed-out breath to understand what he meant. 

Numbly, he recognised the sensation of the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

“Cas,” he said quietly. “Where are you?”

Anna was chewing her nails.

“ _ I’m in Kansas, Dean, _ ” Cas said, his voice bursting with pride. “ _ I landed about twenty minutes ago. Can you come pick me up?” _

Dean couldn’t feel the hand that was holding the phone against his face.

“Cas…” he said, and then trailed off. How did he - how could he break it to him? How had this  _ happened _ ?

“ _ Dean? _ ”

He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Babe,” he said. “I don’t even know how to tell you this. I’m, uh. I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

“ _ What? _ ” Cas said. He only sounded mildly puzzled - not particularly worried, not yet. “ _ Where are you, then?” _

Dean couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.

“Why don’t you ask Anna?” he said.

_ “Anna? What do you mean, Anna? Are you - wait… she’s - no - you didn’t. You’re not - Dean.  _ **_Dean._ ** _ Tell me you’re not -” _

Dean, who had listened to the sound of Cas’ horror unfolding with a sense of inevitability, cleared his throat.

“New York sure is cold this time of year,” he said, fake-brightly.

There was a long, long pause. Long enough that Dean wondered if they’d been cut off. His free hand was fisted tightly in his pocket. And then -

“ **_You have got to be fucking joking_ ** ,” Cas said, in that flat, ageless voice of his. And just like that, all the tension left Dean’s body in a rush; the shock of hearing Cas swear, the tone of his voice, the ridiculous absurdity of their situation… it all burst suddenly into a little snort of disbelieving laughter. 

“ _ I can’t believe this is happening,”  _ Cas said, and somehow that only made Dean laugh a little more - and then he heard Cas doing the voice that he did when he was trying not to laugh, and suddenly his little chuckles were uncontrollable.

“ _ Oh my god,”  _ Cas was saying, in that laughter-voice. “ _ I cannot believe this. Are you telling me that I flew all this way and we are  _ **_still_ ** _ on opposite sides of the country? _ ”

Anna was watching Dean laugh with a kind of half-relief, half-concern in her eyes.

“Cas - babe - oh my god -” Dean said, his laughter only growing. “I can’t believe this. You - you flew? You flew all the way to Kansas? What the hell did you do that for?”

“ _ I was under the impression that you would still be here if I did!”  _ Cas said, and Dean put his hand to his forehead, still smiling - against the odds, still smiling. “ _ Why are  _ **_you_ ** _ in New York?” _

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Dean said, grinning even though his heart was in his shoes. No Christmas with Cas, then.

“ _ If it’s because you heard that the Greek supermarket was still open, I have to tell you... I made that up. It’s definitely closed.” _

“Oh, god,” Dean said, and he wasn’t sure whether the tears in his eyes were from laughter or sadness. “Oh, god, Cas - I’m - I’m so sorry, man.”

“ _ I can’t believe - did you fly?” _

“Have you met me?” Dean demanded. “I drove, duh.”

There was a little pause; Dean could feel them both trying to adjust to the situation, trying to figure out what to do.

“Listen,” Dean said. “Are you alright? Are you somewhere safe?”

“ _ I’m still at the airport. I think I’m in the Arrivals lounge.” _

“OK. Listen. I’ll call Sam, alright? He can come and get you. We’ll figure something out once he’s found you and you’re OK.”

“ _ Thank you, Dean. Ask Anna to let you into my apartment. There are some cookies in the usual cupboard.” _

“I’ll call Sam right away, okay? I don’t want you to be waiting there any longer than you have to be. I’ll call you back after. I’ll - god. Yeah. OK. Is this an OK plan? I don’t even -”

“ _ Dean, breathe. _ ”

Dean took a breath.

“ _ It’s a good plan. I’ll speak to you soon. _ ”

Dean tried to summon up a way to say goodbye, and somehow couldn’t quite manage it. He hung up the phone, and hit speed dial one.

“I’m so sorry,” Anna said, into the silence.

Dean looked over at her, phone pressed to his ear, and gave her his best smile.

“It’s alright,” he said. Sam’s phone rang in his ear. “Hey, do you have a key for Cas’ place? He said something about cookies.”

*

“Castiel?”

Cas’ head jerked up at the sound of his name.

“Castiel - that’s you, right? It’s me… Sam?”

“Sam,” Cas said, hearing Dean’s brother slipping into the seat beside him in the Arrivals lounge. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, and held out his hand. Sam shook it firmly. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Great to finally meet you, man.” Sam didn’t sound a whole lot like Dean, Cas thought, but there was a kind of steadiness in his voice that was familiar. “I’ve heard so much about you from Dean. He never shuts up, I’m telling you. Cas this, Cas that. You woulda thought you’d hung the stars.”

“Oh, no,” Cas said. “Just a few of the planets, I’m not ambitious.”

Sam chuckled, and Cas relaxed a little. Sam had a sense of humour, at least.

“What the hell are you doing here, Cas? Dean drove all the way up to New York to find you, and you’re here? I brought you a sandwich, by the way.”

There was a note in his voice that told Cas something was being held out to him; he put out his hand, and a clingfilm-wrapped parcel was placed in it.

“Thank you,” Cas said, with feeling. He hadn’t quite felt equal to braving the upper floor of Arrivals, where he could hear the unmistakeable sounds of fast-food restaurants - but his stomach was rumbling. He tore the clingfilm off the sandwich and took a bite.

“Seriously - why did you come? How did you even get here? I thought Dean said you were broke!”

Cas chewed, and swallowed. The sandwich was delicious.

“I am,” he said honestly. “Or - well, I was. I sold… I sold my coat. The one from  _ Angels. _ ”

Sam audibly drew in a breath.

“Huh,” was all he said. Cas chewed on his sandwich a little more.

“So,” he said, eventually. “I guess I’m stuck here, and Dean’s stuck in New York. I have no idea how either of us are getting home. All I wanted was to be here with him for Christmas, and -”

Cas felt a hand land on his shoulder. Sam squeezed, just like Jo had done at the airport -

Jo. Cas wanted to tell her about what had happened - wanted to hear her words of sympathy, or so he hoped. The iced disappointment in his chest might melt a little if he shared it. He brushed the crumbs of the sandwich from the front of his jumper, and reached for his phone.


	5. Chapter 5

“I just - I can’t believe it,” Dean said. They were sitting on the pair of armchairs that rested at right-angles to each other in one corner of the apartment. Anna was watching him seriously, and eating a cookie. “I drove all this way - it was really important - we _had_ to be together this Christmas, it was going to be perfect, you know? I had it all planned out, and this wasn’t the half of it, and -”

He broke off, and scrubbed a hand over his face frustratedly. Anna proffered the cookie box, but Dean waved her away. He found himself not nearly as hungry as he should be, given how long it had been since he’d eaten.

“I sold Baby! For this! And I did it because I knew I’d see him, and it was gonna be a big step for us and I wanted to do it in person, you know?”

Anna nodded, even though Dean knew he wasn’t making any sense at all.

She picked out another cookie.

Dean fell silent, and lost himself in his thoughts.

The two-room apartment was almost exactly as he remembered it, only with none of his own belongings lying around the place - his jeans not drying on the back of a chair, his headphones not tangled on the edge of the desk, his books not stacked messily beside Cas’ braille poetry anthologies and Chuck Shurley novels. The smell of the place - God, it had almost stopped Dean’s heart when he’d first walked in. He took another breath of it now; the familiarity, the sweetness of Cas’ scent, made his chest ache.

He missed this place. He missed being a part of it.

There was a spot of black mould on the top of one of the walls; Dean eyed it angrily. Maybe it wasn’t the _place_ he missed being a part of, so much as the life that existed inside it - the stream of tea mugs and clothes and wires and pages that he could watch flow past him, now, but which ultimately had nothing to do with him. Cas’ life here wasn’t about him anymore.

Except - Dean sat up suddenly - there, over the bed. Sellotaped to the wall was a photo of him, a candid, his eyes squinting against the sun as he smiled. Dean gave a little _huff_ and rolled his eyes. Of course, out of all the photos that they had of each other and of both of them together, Cas would print one out that made him look like a moron. It wasn’t as though Cas could even _see_ the picture. All he’d be able to do would be run his fingers over it, and imagine.

Inwardly, Dean smiled to himself. He remembered when that was taken - the private moment it commemorated. He knew why Cas had chosen it.

“I miss him,” he said out loud, surprising himself as much as Anna, who was silently finishing off the box of cookies. “I miss him a lot. I thought I’d get to see him.”

“He misses you too,” Anna said. Dean nodded; he knew. Cas told him so. “He plays that song you guys used to listen to.”

“ _Hey Jude_?” Dean asked. A memory: himself and Cas, revolving in a slow circle in the centre of this very room, with that song playing soft and low.

Anna nodded.

“He was so excited for this trip,” she said.

“So was I!” Dean couldn’t help exclaiming, frustration claiming him once more. “I drove all this damn way to see him! I just wanted to - I had it all planned -”

A sharp knock on the door, which still rested ajar, cut him off sharply. A blonde girl, her lightly-curled hair swinging over her shoulders, walked into the room.

“Time for a change of plans,” she said, and in her eyes was a challenge. Dean raised an eyebrow, and she smiled.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean said, and her smile only widened.

“My name’s Jo,” she said. “And I’m here to help.”

*

“So - everything you told Jo on the phone, that’s all true?” Sam said, coming back to sit beside Cas, chewing on a candy bar. They were still at the airport, except they’d moved to sit at the shuttle station, waiting for transport to the parking lot where Sam had left the car. It was taking them a long time to leave the airport. In a way, Cas was glad. So long as he was here, it felt as though he didn’t have to face the reality of the way that everything had fallen through, everything was ruined.

“It’s all true,” Cas confirmed. Sam had listened in on most of the conversation, and both he and Jo had made appropriate commiserating noises in all the right places. It hadn’t helped to shift the leaden weight in Cas’ stomach all that much, but it had been something.

 _That’s really something,_ Cas heard in his head, the barista’s voice from the airport Starbucks earlier popping into his head. He remembered the mistletoe inside his shoulder bag, and swallowed hard.

“That’s ass, man. The whole thing is ass.”

Cas had to agree with Sam that the whole thing was, indeed, ass.

“Hey - can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Was it hard, getting the flight? When you’re - you know…” Sam trailed off in a way that Cas had heard many times before. He smiled.

“There are harder things,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. Like finding the toilet paper in a new bathroom.” Cas heard Sam snort, and dipped his head, his smile widening. “Truthfully, it was nerve-wracking. But it wasn’t too bad because I thought I was going to be seeing Dean on the other side.” He did his best to play off the catch in his voice, clearing his throat.

Sam chewed his candy bar in silence for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said finally, heavily. “OK. I think the shuttle’s coming. Let me just grab your bag for you -”

“I’m completely capable of carrying it, but thank you, Sam.” Cas got to his feet, and took a step forward.

“We’ll just get to the parking lot, and then I’ll drive us back,” Sam said, the cheeriness in his voice a little thin. “We can still have a decent Christmas!”

“Yes,” Cas said solemnly. He pushed away his hurt. “Yes, of course we can.”

“Excuse me!” said a voice, a new voice - Cas turned towards it, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. He pushed them back up. “Excuse me, sir, I -”

“Who are you?” Cas heard Sam say, sounding unfriendly. There were footsteps that got closer, and Sam put his hand on Cas’ arm.

“Sam - what’s happening? Who is that?”

“Some guy,” Sam said, still stand-offish. “Short. Beard. Messy clothes. Looks like a bum.”

“Charming sum-up,” said the guy in question. His voice was a little reedy, but not unpleasant.

“So he’s not trying to mug us?” Cas wanted to confirm.

“What? Hey, no,” the man. “No, no - listen, I - I know this is going to sound bad, but - I overheard what you were saying, just then. Is it… is it true?”

There was a pause. Cas waited for Sam to reply, but he said nothing. The moment stretched out.

“Yes,” Cas said eventually. “It truly is difficult for me to find the toilet paper in new bathrooms.”

Sam’s snort was louder this time. The man laughed a little, too, and the atmosphere relaxed somewhat.

“Well, there’s that, sure - but I actually meant what you were saying on the phone. About your boyfriend in New York.”

“What? You followed us all the way from Arrivals?” Sam’s former suspicion was back immediately.

There was a beat of silence, in which Cas assumed that there was some kind of non-verbal communication. He breathed out quickly and impatiently.

“What do you want?” he demanded, and the man’s focus was back on him.

“I want to help,” he said. “Listen, I was in Arrivals because I was supposed to be meeting my sister and my secretary and travelling on with them, but she didn’t show and neither did he. I mean, she’s like that, you know? I guess I should’ve expected it. Come to think of it, both me _and_ my sister are a little like that. In and out of each other’s lives. I guess it’s the creative temperament, although I’d say her attitude is really more destructive than -”

“Is there a point to this?” Sam cut in, sounding irritated. Cas heard the man’s feet shift.

“Yes,” he said. “There is. I’m Chuck, by the way. Chuck Sh-”

“Get to the point!”

“Alright, al _right_ ,” he said. “The _point_ is, I heard your story. You need to get back to New York.” The guy paused, as though for dramatic effect, Cas thought. “And I’m telling you... I have a couple of plane tickets that’ll get you as far as Pittsburgh.”

*

“You’re off your horse,” Dean said, striding up and down the length of the little apartment. “You’re round the bend, lady.”

“Listen. You've spoken to Castiel, right?”

“So?”

“So, I haven't heard anyone sound that disappointed in my whole life. Isn't that worth trying to fix?”

“Look,” Dean said, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hated having to admit this. “Look, I'd love to be able to just fix it. But I'm broke. I can't afford to drive all the way back to Kansas.” Jo's sudden expression of pity made Dean add brashly, “And besides, we'd never make it in time for Christmas, which was kind of the point.”

Jo put her hands on her hips. Her stare was quite something, Dean thought, putting it politely. He glanced to Anna for help, but she was watching Jo with something akin to admiration on her face.

“I would have thought,” Jo said, “that the _point_ would be getting to see your boyfriend, whether it's today or it's a little ways into tomorrow.”

Dean shrugged truculently. _Of course that's the point_ , he thought. _Now how about you fix the fact that I barely have the money to make it to the outskirts of the city, let alone back to Kansas?_

“I have a car,” Jo said. “Not a big one, but it goes.”

Dean stared at her, more certain than ever before that she was several wrenches short of a garage.

“You want him to drive _your_ car back to Kansas?” Anna said incredulously. “How will he get it back to you?”

“Well, actually -”

“The problem isn't the car,” Dean interrupted, trying to speak more kindly than before. Jo was clearly not just in this for fun - she was willing to make sacrifices, however futile. “I have a car that works. It's the fuel. I can’t afford it.”

Jo rolled her eyes.

“Shockingly, I'd guessed,” she said, and Dean raised his eyebrows. “I wasn't expecting you to take my car. I'm offering to _drive_ you.”

And once again, Dean was left gawping.

“Don't you have anywhere to be today?” he said weakly. “Some kind of family gathering to go to? What are you doing here, saying stuff like this?”

Jo’s face hardened.

“My family can’t make it into the city this year and my girlfriend is in Pittsburgh,” she said, the light going out of her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just thought it might be nice to do something _useful_ with all the time I have on my hands today. You know, bring people together. Stop moping around. But _whatever._ I can tell it’s not all that important to you to even see your boyfriend today. I guess I’ll just go.”

“No - hey, hold on a second,” Dean snapped. “ _Not that important to me_? What, do you think I drove for three days to get here - do you think I _sold_ my _car_ for something that I didn’t even really want to do? Sorry, who even _are_ you again? How do you know Cas?” He rose to his feet, and Jo took a step back, her hands balling into fists. Realising he was frightening her, Dean took a breath and sat back down.

“Dean loves Cas,” Anna said simply to Jo.

Dean blushed, and clasped his hands loosely between his knees, and bent his head.

“Look,” Jo said, and her tone was conciliatory. “I didn’t mean you don’t care about him. I just meant -”

“What’s the point in trying?” Dean said, his voice coming out small. “I already came all this way.” He looked up into Jo’s eyes; the hardness in them had fallen away. “I can’t go on another crazy chase across the country and get disappointed all over. At least here it’s like I’m…” He glanced around at the ten stained tea mugs, and the slightly messy bed, and the picture of himself above the bed. “It’s like I’m almost with him. Or something. That's ridiculous, I don't know.”

Jo swallowed audibly. Dean looked up at her, the tightness in his chest almost painful.

“We aren’t going,” he said. “I’m not leaving here. I’m sorry.”

There was a long, tense silence.

_Baby, it’s you! You’re the one I love, you’re the one I need!_

Dean leapt at the tinny sound of music coming from his pocket, and fumbled for his phone.

_You’re the only one I see…_

“Cas,” Dean said, swiping right and picking up the call. He did his best to ignore Anna and Jo’s shared glance at his choice of ringtone. “Babe. You OK? You still with Sam? Did - whoa, whoa, wait. Slow down. Say that again.”

Jo and Anna were both staring at him as he listened to Cas take a breath, and begin again.

“ _Dean, there’s a man here at the airport who has two spare plane tickets. I can make it back to Pennsylvania. Pittsburgh. And from there, I’ll - I’ll figure it out, but I’m coming back to New York.”_

“Cas,” Dean said blankly; his disappointment did a little heavy, ungainly flip in his stomach, trying its hand at being hope instead. “Cas - wait. Hold on a second. Is this a good idea? Can you trust this guy? What about - wait - two tickets? Does that mean you’re gonna bring Sam along too?”

“ _Yes! We’re both coming to find you! And -_ ”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dean said, his heart suddenly in his throat. The idea of the two people he cared about most in the world being trapped together inside one of those death-traps they called a _plane_ was making his world swim. “It’s not safe. I can’t let you -”

“ _Dean… I made it to Kansas. I’m going to make it back to New York. Sam will be with me. We can keep each other safe.”_

“ _Dean, we’ll be fine!”_ Dean heard a second voice say, slightly muffled - Sam, sounding exasperated.

“I - I just - Cas…”

 _“Dean._ ” As always, Cas’ voice slowed the race of his heartbeat, made everything else go quiet for a moment. “ _What’s the problem?”_

“I don’t know - I don’t know,” Dean said in a low voice, turning away from Jo and Anna’s inquisitive stares just a little. “Cas, I just - what if we put a whole lot more effort in right now, and it still fails? What if we both end up disappointed all over again, except a whole lot more lost?”

“ _Will you still love me, even if it all goes wrong?”_

“What?” Dean said, startled. He thought he heard Sam make some kind of noise at the question. Probably a gagging noise, Dean thought. He found himself blushing. “Are you serious? Of course I will.”

“ _Then I don’t care if it works out or if I end up spending the night in a snowdrift. I’m wearing two jumpers and you love me. I’m untouchable,”_ Cas said, and Dean’s heart was racing again - but in the best way, and he had a little flutter of butterflies in his stomach, and he could feel himself growing lighter.

“Untouchable,” he said, when he could trust his voice. “Not if I have anything to do with it, Cas.”

“Ah, come on,” Jo said, while Anna smiled faintly. “Save it for the bedroom.”

“ _I’m coming back, Dean.”_

Dean looked up at Jo, and met her eyes.

“You won’t have to come all the way,” he said. “Once you’ve landed, call me. I’ll be on the road, heading for west Pennsylvania.”


	6. Chapter 6

Cas boarded his second flight of the day, his stomach turning over with excitement once more. He had a hand resting lightly on Sam’s shoulder as he was led onto the plane, with Chuck behind them talking nineteen to the dozen.

“So, he’s driving to meet us? Your boyfriend? He’d better hope it doesn’t blizzard, that’s all I can say. One time I was in Utah during the winter and you couldn’t see two inches in front of your bumper for all the snow that was falling. The stuff just piles up. Sometimes it falls so quickly that you just get stuck on the road wherever you are. I nearly died at least three times. And -”

“Chuck, buddy,” Sam said bracingly, from up ahead. “Shut up.” Cas squeezed Sam’s shoulder gratefully.

“Right, right,” Chuck said. “Okay, here we go…”

“Wait, this can’t be right,” Sam said, sounding confused. “The tickets say that these are our seats.”

“Sure they are,” Chuck said.

“Is something wrong with them?” Cas asked, feeling for a seat with his hand. The headrest, at least, felt definitely… headrest-like. There wasn’t a lot more he could tell.

“We’re still in first class,” Sam said.

“Uh… yeah,” Chuck said, slowly, as though suddenly realising that Sam was a little slow. “That’s right, pal.”

“First class?” Cas repeated. “The expensive seats?”

“‘Scuse me,” said an irritable voice behind them. “Are you gonna stare at your expensive seats all day? Some of us are trying to get past to sit in our cheap ones.”

“Right - right,” Sam said, and Cas felt a guiding hand leading him through a space he didn’t quite understand - headrest to his right, something he sensed above his head - the lockers, perhaps - and then he was being pushed gently downwards into a chair.

“Oh,” Cas said, and stretched out his legs. “Is it alright if I do this? That’s not into the aisle?”

“Nope,” said Sam happily, dropping into the seat next to Cas. “That’s just the leg room you get in first class, man.” Cas heard the gentle _thud, thud_ of Sam stretching out his booted feet one by one, relaxing into his chair. “This is the life. Hey, Chuck, are you loaded or something?”

“Well,” said Chuck, his voice still coming from above them - from the sounds of rustling, Cas guessed he was putting a cabin bag into an overhead locker. “Well, I mean, not exactly loaded, but my last few books did pretty well.”

“Books?” Cas said, as Chuck sat down beside him.

“You write?” Sam asked.

“Oh, yeah. Fantasy stuff, mostly. Anyway, recently one of my books was adapted for the stage. It was a smash, people loved it.” There was a kind of pleased disbelief in his voice that made Cas like him more. “Something to do with the main actor being a bona fide genius, or something. I don’t know, I never got to see it. I wanted to, but at the time, I was broke as hell and still living in Los Angeles. I couldn’t make it out there.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, only a little tightly. Talk of the theatre still left him feeling a little dry and weary inside. He heard a slight movement beside him that might have been Chuck shrugging.

“It’s alright,” he said. “My next few books sold well with the audience of the play. And I’ve got people sniffing round for the movie rights, actually. So, you know… I guess I might actually be able to see it in the end.”

“ _Ladies and gentlemen_ ,” said a crackly voice through the speaker. “ _Welcome on board this flight to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania…”_

*

“I told you we shouldn’t have taken third.”

“Oh, like second would have been any quicker? Have you _seen_ the state of the intersection of second and sixty-eighth?”

“I’ve seen the state of third, now, which I definitely never wanted to do,” Dean said, folding his arms.

“You’re just grumpy because I wouldn’t let you drive.”

“You’re just going the _slow_ way. Don’t you know we’ve got some time pressure going on here?”

“Guys,” said Anna conversationally from the back, “I’m hungry.”

Dean tipped his head back onto the headrest and closed his eyes for a moment.

“We’ll go to a drive-thru,” said Jo, sounding unconcerned. “Lighten up, Dean, would you? We’ve got hours before Castiel lands. It’s only three in the afternoon now. That’s _plenty_ of time to make it to the other side of Pennsylvania before midnight, Christmas over, thanks for coming but not cigar, et cetera.”

She flashed him a smile. Dean glared straight ahead.

“Dean needs to eat too,” Anna said plainly. “He didn’t have any cookies.”

“Aw, has someone got a case of the hunger grumps?” Jo said, in a sing-song voice that reminded Dean irritatingly of Sam. “Come on, we’re getting food.”

“Fine. There’s a Burger King on -”

“I don’t want Burger King,” Anna said. “I want McDonald’s. The fries are way better.”

Dean turned around in his seat.

“You didn’t even have to come,” he said. “So could you maybe stop derailing my chances of meeting up with Cas, just because you want a specific type of fried potato?”

Anna crossed her arms.

“I wanted to come. I didn’t have anything else to do,” she said, and Jo nodded.

“I hear that,” she said, twisting her arm back for a high-five, which Anna gave her. Dean narrowed his eyes at both of them.

“McDonald's it is,” Jo said cheerfully. “And Dean, if you don’t stop being such a killjoy, I’m going to kick you right out of the car and you can walk to Pittsburgh.”

Dean snorted.

“Jesus,” he said. “Of all the people Cas could have been friends with.” A thought occurred to him. “How did he even meet you, anyway? You never said.”

Jo didn’t answer for a second, suddenly paying exaggerated levels of attention to a taxi driving behind them.

“Jo?”

“Well,” Jo said. “ _Well._ I mean, I met him at the airport.”

Dean stared at her, uncomprehending.

“He goes there often?” he said blankly, after a moment.

“No,” Jo said, and then tilted her head slightly. “Well, not to my knowledge.” She indicated left, pulled quickly out of a junction. “It was this morning.”

“This - _what?”_

“This morning,” Jo said composedly. “I met him this morning. He was standing in the coffee queue. He told me about you, and I showed him to his gate, and then I gave him my number in case he needed someone to call -”

“You’re driving across an entire state to help someone you met _literally this morning,_ ” Dean said incredulously. “You know, every time I start thinking you’re on the level, you do something to prove me wrong. How did you even know where he lived?”

“He told me,” Jo said calmly, navigating her way speedily through the traffic with practised ease. “He called me up and told me what had happened, with you being in New York and him being in Kansas. I asked him if he wanted me to go to his place and check that you were alright and you didn’t need anything.”

“What, and then on the way there, the plan changed from ‘check Dean is OK’ to ‘drive Dean as far as it takes to get to Cas’?” Dean demanded. He heard the caustic note in his own tone and made a conscious effort to tone it down. Maybe he really did have the hunger grumps.

“Well,” said Jo, “I don’t have the option of spending Christmas with my partner. I thought it might make it better if _someone_ could, because of me. Especially if that someone is as nice as Cas seemed.”

Dean was silent, not quite sure what to say. He’d dug himself into a hole of only responding to Jo with snark, and there wasn’t really anything snarky to say in response to a statement like that.

Jo seemed to sense his discomfort, because she added in an altogether more irreverent tone, “It’s just a shame his boyfriend had to turn out to be such a jerk. God knows what he sees in you.”

Dean’s smile was a little strained and crooked, but it was there.

“Not even sure myself,” he said, offhand, and then stared out the window.

His stomach growled, and he rolled his eyes. Against his will, he was glad they were stopping for food.

*

Sam was snoring gently, and Cas himself felt his eyes itching. On his other side, he could hear the sound of Chuck typing away at a laptop, the sound soft and repetitive, lulling him into a doze.

“So - wait, sorry - you said you sold something precious to you, so that you could get to Kansas?” Chuck said suddenly, pausing in his typing. His voice cut through the softness of almost-sleep. “A jacket, did you say?”

“Mmm - yes,” Cas said, blinking back to wakefulness. The plane cabin air was dry and verging on stale, but at least he could stretch out his legs, this time. “Well, it was a coat. A trenchcoat.”

“Right,” Chuck said, and resumed his typing.

A suspicion took hold of Castiel.

“Are you… writing about me?” he said, and the sound of the keys ceased once more. There was a silence, tinged with guilt, Cas thought, though it was difficult to tell without being able to read Chuck’s face.

“Would that bother you?” he said. “My method tends to be, you know, write whatever inspires me. I won’t publish it or anything, I just - you know, the story’s there, I gotta…” After a moment, Chuck sighed. “I guess random hand movements don’t really cut it for conversation right now, do they?”

“It certainly isn’t the most effective way to communicate with me,” Cas replied gravely, with only the barest hint of dryness. “It’s alright. Go ahead, write about me. But I thought you usually did fantasy?”

“I do,” Chuck said. “It’s just a little deviation from my norm. I might throw some dragons in there later.” Cas smiled to appreciate the joke, and then wondered if it had been intended as a statement. Either way, it was amusing. He let the smile stand.

“What about you, then?” Chuck said, turning to face Castiel a little more fully - Cas could hear the difference in his voice. “What do you do?”

“I’m…” Castiel wondered if he even dared say it anymore. “I’m an actor.”

“Oh, awesome,” Chuck said, sounding impressed. “Stage or screen?”

“Mostly stage,” Cas said, trying to make it sound as though he’d had more than one job in his entire life. “I was in a cult hit show for a while. That was where I got the coat - you know, the one that I sold. It was my costume.”

“How did it work?” Chuck said, sounding interested - genuinely so, as far as Cas could tell. “With you being blind? How did you learn the script?”

He asked questions more unflinchingly than Sam, though not with the lightness and care that Dean had always asked.

“I had the script sent to me in a digital file. I have software that can read out documents,” Cas explained. “It was simple enough. I am used to remembering things through hearing them.”

“Awesome,” Chuck said. “Awesome. And the part - if you don’t mind me asking - was it written for a blind person, or…?”

“The character I played was blind,” Cas replied. Beside him, Sam let out an especially loud snore. “Normally, they would have cast a sighted actor and let him pretend to be blind. But since I auditioned and they liked the way I played the part, they took a chance on me.” Cas felt a little of the old pride rising up inside him. “Lightning in a bottle, they called me.”

“Lightning in a bottle,” Chuck said, sounding pensive. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Cas copied, making it a question.

“No, no, it’s nothing. So - you were in the show, but what about now?”

Cas raised a shoulder.

“Now… nothing,” he said, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “No one has much work for a blind actor. It’s so much easier to hire someone who can see, even when the character is supposed to be blind. After all, ‘acting’ blind shouldn’t be that hard for an ‘actor’, right? So why give the part to someone who actually has the handicap?”

Chuck said nothing for a long, long moment. Cas shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I get frustrated when I talk about it. I do understand why it’s harder to cater for a blind actor. On the stage, there’s the danger of me falling off into the pit, there’s the fact that I can’t see and connect with the audience, I have to be choreographed down to the length of my steps. And on screen, working with cameras… it would probably be impossible.”

“No,” said a voice from the left, and Cas realised that Sam’s snores had stopped. “I don’t think it would be. I think you could do it. Right, Chuck?”

“Right,” Chuck said, and he sounded more thoughtful than ever. “Definitely. It would take a little more work, but imagine the results - imagine the authenticity, the integrity, of casting a blind actor as a blind character.”

Cas found himself glowing quietly inside. He sent a small smile in Sam’s direction, hoping he would catch it.

*

“Does anyone else hear that?”

“No,” Dean said. He’d been determinedly ignoring the rising whine that was emanating from the engine of the little Nissan that Jo drove.

“I can definitely hear it,” Anna said.

“If pretend it’s not there,” Dean said, “it won’t be a thing.”

Dean watched Anna and Jo meet each other’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Privately, he agreed with them. He was feeling a lot better since he’d got some food into his system, but he still wasn’t ready to deal with any kind of potential setback on their trip.

Ten minutes later, and several miles further down the interstate road, Anna spoke again.

“It’s louder now.”

“It’s _not._ ”

“Dean, pretending it isn’t happening. That'd isn’t going to stop the engine from blowing apart, or whatever -”

“Look, I’m a mechanic, right? I know cars. And that sound…” _Isn’t good._ “Is, uh, fine. We just have to make it to Pittsburgh, OK? Then we can get her seen to.”

There was a long pause.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Jo said. “I know how important it is that we make it to Pittsburgh. I get it. So listen. My family runs a garage about an hour from here, alright? If the noise hasn’t stopped by then, we’re going to stop by and get her looked at. If nothing else, my stepdad will fix us up with a replacement car to get us to Pittsburgh without breaking down in a snowdrift on the way. Okay?”

Dean clenched his teeth.

“OK,” he said bluntly, and then made a conscious effort to relax. “Okay. That’s a good plan.”

Jo nodded. For a while, they drove in silence, Dean lost in his own thoughts - until Anna spoke up from the back.

“Hey, Jo? Did you just say you have family in Pennsylvania?”

“Sure did,” she said. “What about it?”

They were cruising at a comfortable sixty miles an hour, in deference to the ice on the road. Jo drove well, Dean had to admit.

“Well - didn’t you say you had nowhere to go for Christmas? What about there?”

Jo’s silence was, once again, a telltale sign that she didn’t particularly want to answer. Nevertheless, under Anna’s and Dean’s suddenly curious gazes, she opened her mouth to offer up an answer.

“I - well,” she said, “honestly, it’s - it’s kind of a stubbornness thing. It’s sort of - I don’t know. It’s like a promise or something. I told myself that I’d only go home for Christmas when I could take my girlfriend there with me. But she’s still trying to make it work with her family, you know? Even though they can’t accept that she’s gay. It’s been three years, and I just - I can’t face going there alone, and watching my stepdad and my mom looking at me all pitying, and stuff. I just - I’d rather be alone than have their pity.”

She shrugged awkwardly, and Dean nodded. He understood, in a way.

“You have family,” Anna said quietly. “Real life family, to spend Christmas with? And you just sit there on your own instead? Don’t they miss you?”

“Well - well, yeah, a bit, maybe - I don’t know,” Jo said, sounding flustered. “It’s just -”

“You’re so _lucky,_ ” Anna said, and the note of sheer longing in her voice was so real that Dean drew in a breath. He looked sideways at Jo, who was flushing furiously.

“It’s lucky to have a girlfriend who runs off to be with her homophobic family, is it?” she demanded, glaring into the rearview.

“I didn’t meant that. I only - I -”

“Hey, come on,” Dean said, interrupting. “I’m pretty sure we all have reasons to find the holidays rough. Let’s not make it a competition.”

“Shut up, Dean, you have a boyfriend who flew across the country to be with you,” Jo snapped.

“And a family waiting for you in Kansas,” Anna said, her voice returning to its usual blankness, though now Dean thought he could detect the slight hint of sadness underneath.

 _Well,_ he thought, _they have a point. I_ am _lucky. Way too lucky._

He lost himself in thoughts of Cas again, trying not to think too much about Jo or Anna or their problems, even though he knew the effort not to hurt for them was wasted. There was an ache in his chest for the both of them, even though there wasn’t anything he could do to help them, and there wasn’t anything he could say that wouldn’t come off condescending or patronising.

They drove on, the engine’s whine only getting louder.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, Cas?” Sam said, as the flight began to draw to an end - Cas could hear people returning to their seats. “Do you know what Dean looks like?”

Cas smiled.

“Well,” he said. “Yes and no. I know what his face feels like. I know his features very well.”

“You feel his face?”

“Of course.”

“And you could pick him out - like, if you felt a bunch of people’s faces, you could pick out Dean’s? You’d know it was him?”

“Absolutely.” Cas felt no doubt. He’d know Dean anywhere.

“Even if he didn’t speak?”

“Even still.”

“Do you know what I look like at all?” Sam asked next. Cas could hear Chuck still typing on his other side, not particularly listening to their conversation, from the sounds of it. “Did Dean describe me to you?”

“Well,” Cas said, “he told me more about who you are than about what you look like. He said you were a smart kid and that you’re going to go to Stanford next year.”

“Hey, Stanford, Cali?” Chuck said, leaning over. “Not too far from my neck of the woods, huh? I’m based in Los Angeles.”

“Well,” Sam said, embarrassed, “I still have to make my grades.”

“Studying hard?” Cas said, remembering all the phone calls Dean had made to Sam from his own apartment in New York - all the times Dean had reminded Sam to do his homework, to study.

“Yep,” Sam said. “Except for today.”

“Well, today is Christmas,” Chuck said. “It was always going to be a little different.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “ _just_ a little.” He laughed, and so did Chuck. Cas smiled along with them, though he felt a sudden lurch of concern. How was Sam going to get home to Kansas and study? Cas had dragged him on this journey without thinking through the fact that Sam had _needed_ to be at home. If his college plans all fell through now, just because of this crazy trip…

They’d figure something out, Cas thought to himself.

They’d have to.

*

“Dean? Dean, wake up. We’re here,” said a voice that Dean didn’t recognise.

“M’not asleep,” he mumbled quietly, and squeezed his eyes more tightly shut.

A stern punch landed on his upper arm.

“Wakey wakey,” said the voice again, and Dean blinked his eyes open to see a girl with curly blonde hair looking at him from the driver’s side. _Right._ Jo. The car. Driving to Pittsburgh. And now…

He looked out the window, and saw, stretched out right beside him, a huge, shiny, gorgeous, black 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

“No,” said Dean, still sleepy. He narrowed his eyes and looked closer. On the near wing mirror, he could see the ever-so-slight crack in the glass from when he’d had to leave her parked on the road on the way to New York so that he could go and buy some food.

“Dean, come on,” Jo said, but Dean barely heard her.

“Baby?” he said.

“Yes, sugar?” Jo replied without missing a beat, voice dripping with false sweetness.

“No, I meant - I mean, that’s - that’s my car! Is this some kind of dream?” Dean looked around at where they were parked - it seemed like some kind of backlot, behind a building that he thought he recognised.

“Is this - it can’t be…”

A figure came out of the building’s wide door, wearing a baseball cap and wiping its hands on a rag. _Bobby,_ Dean’s brain supplied numbly, even as Jo let out a little gasp and pushed open the door of the Nissan.

“Bobby!” she yelled, and ran across the parking lot - into the man’s open arms. He was hugging her, he - he _knew_ her? Bobby - the man to whom Dean had sold his Impala - Bobby knew _Jo_?

“This has got to be a dream,” Dean said, and Anna leaned forwards to peer at him through the two front seats.

“Are you seeing behind the fragile illusion of reality?” she said. “I do it a lot. Don’t worry about it. I can assure you that I am real.” She pinched him, and he stifled a yelp. “See?”

“I don’t see it, but I feel it,” Dean grumbled, and pushed open his door, climbing out as well. “Jo?” he called, and Jo turned towards him, her face lit up. Behind her, Bobby’s face shifted from happiness to surprise to borderline suspicion, coming to rest on a narrow gaze.

“Jo, who’s this?” he said, in that rough voice that Dean remembered. Dean began to walk towards them, hearing Anna climbing out of the car behind him. “Please don’t tell me you and he are…”

“What? Bobby, no, God,” Jo said, punching him in the arm, too. Dean, still feeling the bruise building on his bicep, offered Bobby a look of deep sympathy. “This is Dean, he’s -”

“Driving to New York to meet up with his partner,” Bobby said thinly. “Except now he’s here, back in my garage. You want your car back for free or something, kid? I don’t see my Ford anywhere.”

“Honey, let the kid explain for two seconds,” came a voice from inside the garage, and in the doorway appeared a woman with Jo’s eyes, her hands on her hips. “Maybe there’s a good reason he’s here.”

“There _is_ ,” Jo said impatiently. “I don’t get it. What Ford?”

Outside the car, Dean could feel the winter’s chill biting at him. He tugged his coat in a little closer. The little family in front of him, mother, daughter, and father - or had Jo said stepfather? - were standing with their bodies angled towards each other, unconsciously forming a shape of which he was not a part.

“I think,” Dean said, still not believing it himself, “Well, I mean, I know... I sold my car to your parents. And bought a Ford Ka from them to drive the rest of the way to New York, along with cash for fuel.”

“I kept my side of the deal, s’you can see,” Bobby said gruffly. “She’s back here, and she’ll stay here for three months. She’s not for sale.” He glowered at Dean, who shuddered under his gaze.

“Sir, I’m not coming back here trying to get a different deal,” Dean said. “Really, it’s just - my partner, who I went to meet - turns out, he, uh, he… well - see I came to… it’s complicated...”

“He flew to Kansas to meet Dean,” Anna put in swiftly. “So they pretty much just swapped which part of the country they’re in.”

Bobby stared at Dean for a long moment, and then put his hands on his hips, and grinned.

“Well,” he said. “Ain’t that some ass.”

Dean had to agree with Bobby that it really, definitely was complete and utter ass.

The woman - Jo’s mother, Dean had to keep assuming - had moved to stand next to her husband, and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Honey…” she said.

“Ellen, no. I know what you’re thinking, and no.” Bobby looked back to Dean. “So, what’s the plan? Heading home with your tail between your legs?”

“Actually,” Jo said, with some spirit, “I’m driving him to Pittsburgh. His boyfriend’s flying back to there. We’re going to make this happen, no matter what.” She gave Dean a rather fierce nod, and then turned back to Bobby with her hands on her hips.

Bobby shook his head, and looked down at Ellen, who was smiling proudly.

“Well,” Bobby said, “you’re your mother’s daughter, alright.”

"That's my girl."

“See, the only thing is,” Jo said, speaking more quickly now, “the car - the Nissan - it’s making a weird noise in the engine. Whining. So I said we’d stop off here. I didn’t realise you would know him…”

“I don’t think anyone saw that coming,” Dean said a little weakly, still trying to reassert his grip on reality. Anna, standing beside him, somehow helped to ground him. Maybe it was the fact that she reminded him so intrinsically of Cas, as his neighbour of several years.

“Bobby…” said Ellen, and even though she didn’t speak loudly or harshly, there was a quiet order in her tone. He wondered briefly whether Bobby would push back against it, but he only looked down at her for a few moments, and then reached into his pocket.

“I was about to move her inside,” Bobby said, tossing something silver through the air - Dean caught it one-handed. The Impala’s key fell into his palm as though it had been moulded to fit. “But there. She’s yours again. _But,_ ” he said, in the face of the gratitude about to spring from Dean’s lips, “for _one night only._ And I am coming with you to make good and sure you don’t steal her.”

“What? Bobby, no, come on,” Jo said. “I’ll be with him, he’s not gonna -”

“Like a man ain’t ever overpowered a woman before?” Bobby said. “It’s not safe. You’re lucky you’ve been OK this far and he hasn’t taken you out into the woods and gutted you like a deer.”

“Oh,” said Anna, which seemed like the only possible response to the curiously specific and graphic image that Bobby had decided to conjure.

“ _Oh, deer,_ ” Dean could hear Cas saying in his head, almost as loud as if he were really there, standing beside them. He covered his mouth with his hand, quickly, to cover his smile - pretended to be checking his stubble.

“Fine,” Jo said, her cheeks flushed. “But I’m not staying here with Mom. I’m coming too. And by the way, I’ve been taking _krav maga_ lessons, alright? I’m not some wilting weedy baby. He would’ve had a job trying to knock me out.” She sent Dean a hard glance, and he spent a moment briefly assessing her claim before deciding she was probably right. He had weight on his side, but he would’ve been so surprised by her knowing any kind of martial art that he would have probably been easily beaten.

“Whatever. Get in the car, everyone,” Bobby said. “Let’s get this over with. Ellen, I’ll be home -”

“If you think I’m going to spend Christmas alone while you go roadtripping off on an adventure with Joanna, you’ve got as much brains as an oil rag,” Ellen said, in the authoritative voice that Dean was coming to recognise as her primary weapon. “I’m coming with you all.”

It was with a still-hazy grip on reality that Dean found himself climbing back into his own car, with Bobby in shotgun, and Jo, Ellen, and Anna in the back.

“This is exciting,” Anna said, as Dean started the engine.

“Who are you?” Ellen asked, as they pulled away.

*

The airport in Pittsburgh wasn’t hugely different to the one in Kansas, nor the one in New York, from what Cas could tell. They all sounded the same - mingling accents and languages, the sound of suitcases rolling, newspapers rustling, plastic shopping bags being filled with duty-free products. And they all smelled the same, too, strangely airless but not unpleasant.

They were sitting outside a fast-food restaurant, Chuck eating a burger with enthusiasm. Cas hadn’t quite figured out why Chuck hadn’t left yet, but he suspected that it was something to do with the piece that Chuck had been working on during the flight. More than likely, there were some extra details - little things, to add colour to the writing - that he wanted to find out before he left.

“So then _I_ said to my editor, why don’t we _keep_ that character alive, and your opinion polls can _stick it_?” Chuck was telling Sam excitedly, his mouth half-full. “She’s a beautiful character and she means a lot to the fans, alright, I wasn’t going to just dump her in a bathtub. So anyway, my editor actually _agreed._ I have so much more sway than I used to. I’m telling you, I think I might even get a say in some of the movie stuff, if that project gets green-lighted. I wanna work on the script. I wanna be part of the casting…”

Cas was barely listening to the monologue, if he was honest. Sam was quiet, so either he was absorbed in his burger too and letting the words roll off him, or else he was genuinely invested. Cas tended towards the latter option, but he couldn’t be sure.

He wasn’t entirely certain what the plan was, now. He needed to call Dean and see where he was - see if there was any chance of making it to the same place before Christmas ended. What if Dean hadn’t managed to make it far enough - what if there was still too much distance between them for them to be able to meet up at Pittsburgh airport?

For a moment, Cas found himself briefly considering how hard it would be to steal a car from the airport parking lot, and have Sam drive it out of here.

He shook his head. _Legal means only,_ he scolded himself _._ Sam couldn’t get into Stanford if he had a police record for carjacking. Besides, it wasn’t as though he were exactly a dab hand at thievery himself.

“And when I published _Angels,_ I knew it was good,” Cas snapped back to the conversation to hear, “but I didn’t think it was going to inspire so much -”

“What?” said Cas, loudly. “What did you just say?”

Across the table, Chuck was silent; Cas could hear Sam still stoically chewing on his burger.

“I said,” repeated Chuck, “when I published _Angels -_ ”

It was as though a light had been switched on inside Cas’ head.

“You’re - you’re Chuck _Shurley_?” he said, barely believing the words coming out of his own mouth. Chuck - little, helpful, well-off Chuck, the writer who’d had a cult-hit stage play but never been to see it, the guy who’d helped him get back to Dean as far as Pittsburgh - Chuck was the same guy who had written the play which had given Cas his one chance to act on the stage?

“I am,” Chuck said proudly. “Why - have you heard of me?”

“I - I - um...” Cas found himself lost for words. A hero of his - Chuck Shurley. Cas had read every one of his books faithfully in braille after being cast in _Angels,_ feeling it was the least he could do to show his gratitude.

“Cas? Everything OK?” Sam said, sounding concerned.

“I was in your play,” Cas blurted out. “I was the blind angel in your play. I know you didn’t see it, but you have to believe me - that’s where I got my coat, the one that I sold, they let me keep it after the show’s run was over - I know it sounds unlikely in the extreme, but -”

“No, no,” said Chuck, sounding reassuring. Cas swallowed hard. How was this _happening_? First meeting Jo in one airport, then meeting Chuck in the next - it was almost as though the universe was trying to make up for the fact that he couldn’t see Dean, and was throwing every other good thing at him instead.

“Wait - seriously? All this time, you’ve been the writer of the play that Cas was in?” Sam demanded. “And you didn’t even _realise_?”

“Well,” Chuck said, and his mouth sounded full again, “I might have had my suspicions. But I didn’t want to push the issue. I wasn’t sure if Cas would still like having me around if he knew who I was. The guy who ended the show’s run.”

It felt as though a cold steel ball had slipped down Cas’ windpipe.

“Wait... _what,_ ” he said, not even inflecting a question. He heard Sam shift in his chair uneasily. All around them, the clatter of the restaurant continued - but Cas was focused solely on Chuck.

“I’m - I’m the guy who ended the show’s run,” Chuck said, even more awkwardly than before. “Someone approached me, asking for movie rights. Apparently there was some kind of issue with the play being allowed to run at the same time. So I said that the show had to end.”

Cas sat numbly, barely able to understand what he was hearing. The ending of the play’s run had always been inexplicable to him, but he hadn’t thought too hard about it - had always assumed that numbers must have dropped off somewhere, or that a new up-and-coming performance had needed the space to make its debut. He hadn’t even _considered_ that the show might have ended because the writer - Chuck Shurley, the man _literally_ in front of him - had demanded it to be so.

“You shut down my show,” Cas said softly. For a moment, he allowed himself that nostalgia again - feet on the boards, audience gasps, waiting in the wings, Dean at the stage door, flowers in his dressing room, make-up, hair, lights -

“My show,” Chuck said. “It was my show. And yes, I did.”

Cas couldn’t say a word.

*

The first snowflake fell onto the windscreen, and melted so quickly that it could have been rain.

 _No,_ Dean thought vehemently, aiming the message to the sky. _Don’t you dare. It’s seven o’clock in the evening. Don’t you dare snow on me now. We’re getting there. We’ve got another couple hours to go. Hold it the hell in, clouds, you bastards._

Another snowflake fell, and melted more slowly.

“Was that -?” Jo said, from the back.

“No,” Dean said flatly, interrupting her.

Jo sighed. “Ah, another round of Dean’s favourite game: denial that anything at all is wrong.”

“Something’s wrong?” Anna said, sounding confused.

“No,” Dean said again.

“Oh, good. Because I wouldn’t want to add bad news to bad news, but it’s snowing outside.”

Dean’s hands were white on the steering wheel.

“Everybody stay calm,” Bobby said comfortably. “Probably just a little flurry. We’ll still make it in time.”

Dean was already reaching for his phone. At least Baby felt good under his hands, her steering wheel right in his palms, in a way that the Ford’s - for all its power steering - never could could be.

“Uh-uh,” Bobby said, jerking the phone out of Dean’s hand. “No way you’re driving my wife and my daughter on icy roads while you’re making a call on that thing.”

“Pass it here.” Jo, sitting behind Dean, reached for the phone. “Who did you want to call? I’ll hold it for you.”

“Just hit speed dial two,” Dean said, keeping his eyes on the road. He felt the plastic of his phone being jammed up against the side of his face, and heard the soft sound of the dial tone.

_Ring ring. Ring r-_

“ _Dean.”_

Hearing Cas’ voice was a warm bath in winter. Dean breathed.

“Cas,” he said. “Listen, there’s some snow. It’s gonna slow us down some, but we’re still coming, OK?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“ _I will try to find a way to meet you in the middle of where we are,”_ Cas said eventually. Dean bit his lip, and then began to brake, indicating right - pulling over at the side of the road.

“Do you think you can?” Dean asked. He could almost hear Cas’ shrug. "You found some way to move out of the airport?"

“ _I have to,_ ” Cas said. “ _So I will. Tell me what road you’re on._ ”

“Why have we stopped?” Jo hissed, and then Dean put on the handbrake, grabbed the phone, and stepped out of the car. Outside, it felt several degrees below freezing - but at least they had some privacy. A snowflake fell onto Dean’s nose.

“ _Dean? Are you still there?_ ”

“Cas - hold on, okay, just - Cas, is this worth it?” Dean said wretchedly, something building up in his chest that he’d been pushing away for ages now - something that had began to form itself into words when Jo had said this morning, _what does he see in you?_ \- but it had been living inside him for a great deal longer than that.

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

“I mean…” Dean sighed, and leaned against the warm hood of the Impala. His hand was already going numb with the cold; he switched the ear he had the phone pressed against and shoved the colder hand into his coat pocket. “I mean… what do you even see in me, Cas?”

There was a long pause.

“ _Well,_ ” Cas said, “ _I don’t see much of anything. I’m blind, after all."_

Dean dropped his chin to his chest, a little smile on his face.

“Cas…”

“ _I mean it, Dean. I don’t see much in you at all._ ”

Dean felt his heart give a throb, as though it had been struck.

“ _I don’t see it… I_ **_feel_ ** _it. Dean - listen to me. I don't say this enough if you can ask that question. You are... caring, and intelligent, and thoughtful. You’re kind, even when you don’t have to be. Even when no one’s looking. Even when it's hard to be. Even when the world is on your shoulders, you’re kind. I can’t see you, Dean, but I can feel the good in you. You are absolutely... reliable.”_

“I’ve - we’ve - we’ve fought,” Dean managed to say. “I’ve said stuff - things I don’t mean. I’m not always that kind.”

Cas sighed.

“ _Well,_ ” he said, “ _you_ **_are_ ** _also hard-headed, and good at being in denial. And you get grumpy when you haven’t eaten._ ”

“I do not!”

 _“Dean, every time you’ve lashed out at me, you’ve helped me to make it better. It didn’t matter what it was that upset me, you were_ **_always_ ** _there, doing whatever it took to make me smile again.”_

Dean snorted.

“I just make a dumb lovestruck fool outta myself, that’s all.”

 _“I never thought of it as foolishness. You helped me because you loved me. You were unselfish. There is nothing nobler, Dean.”_ He heard Cas swallow. _“Do you think I could have loved you like I do, if you had been anyone but yourself? Do you think I am the type of person to love someone in whom I see shallowness, or hypocrisy? Or callousness? Do you think I could have loved someone passionless? Dean… how can I say this in a way that will convince you... you are_ ** _good_ ** _. You are more than I ever expected a human being could be. You make me wonder at you, every day, because you bear your sadness and troubles with such grace.”_ Dean opened his mouth to speak, to interrupt, but Castiel was already flowing onwards. “ _Every moment of my life that I spend connected to you is a moment that makes me better. I strive to deserve you, Dean. Your dedication. Your kindness. Your_ **_love_** _. I couldn’t have fallen for anyone else. So yes, is my answer. I do think it is worth it to drive a few hundred miles, or however far it is, to spend a little part of Christmas with you.”_

The wetness on Dean’s cheeks was making them colder. He brushed at it. The ache in his heart, so recently dealt against him, was gone.

“You - you too,” Dean managed. “About the - the fixing-it thing. You know, sometimes you really stick the knife in, but you also make it your job to take it back out, don’t you?”

“ _I would tear myself in two to save you pain, however small.”_

“Yeah, alright, Romeo,” Dean said, attempting lightness. It didn’t quite work. “You know, the scary thing is, I think I _could_ have fallen for someone else, Cas. I’m not like you. I think I would have settled for someone, not even imagining that someone like you was out there.”

There was silence on the line.

“I’m glad you found me, is what I’m saying,” Dean said, realising that the sentiment wasn’t especially romantic. _If I didn’t have you, someone else would do._ “I - I’m glad I got to know what this feels like. To love someone who - who -”

“ _Who loves like you do,_ ” Cas said. “ _Or tries to._ ”

“I don’t know about that,” Dean said. “I just know you’re the best thing that could have possibly happened to me.”

“ _Drive, Dean. I want to hold you.”_

“You will,” Dean promised, casting a malevolent glance at the sky, before turning back to his car door and swinging it open. “Tonight.”

He left the call.

“That was beautiful,” Jo said, rolling up her window. “I don’t know what he said, but your parts were poetry, Dean.”


	8. Chapter 8

Cas lowered the phone away from his ear, and heard Sam and Chuck - who had backed away, to give him some space - approaching him once more.

 _Ping,_ went his text noise. Cas opened it with practised movements.

"Route Seventy Eight," read out his phone. "See you there."

“Dean says it’s snowing,” Cas said when Sam and Chuck had arrived, and he heard Sam let out a groan. “He says that they’re still going to do everything they can to make it, but the longer it goes on, the less likely they’ll make it before Christmas is over.”

“So - we’ve got to find a way to hitch a ride,” Chuck said. “Listen, I can -”

“No, thank you,” Cas said.

“Castiel -”

“Mr Shurley, you’ve been more than generous. But there is nothing more here for you now. I won’t be giving you any more colour for your latest bestseller. You will have to fill in the details with your excellent imagination.”

“Castiel. I know now that I was heartless when I took the show off Broadway. I never considered that it might affect any of the actors or the crew like it has.” Castiel waited for it - the apology that he needed, to be able to move on. Anger still burned in his chest at Chuck’s thoughtlessness, his greed, grasping after the money in the movie industry without thinking twice about the show that had made his writing career soar, or the people who had done that dirty work for him.

“Go on,” he said.

Chuck hesitated.

“I just didn’t know it would affect you like that,” he said. “How was I supposed to know?”

Cas adjusted his sunglasses on his nose. It was at times like this that he most missed Dean - Dean, who _got_ it.

God, he missed Dean. So much. He’d sounded strung out on the phone, ready to drop.

“If I stick a knife in your back,” said Cas, remembering Dean’s words, “it doesn’t matter whether I fell into you or I pushed it in there on purpose. It’s my job to get it out. It’s a question of honour.”

Cas heard Sam shift, and wondered what he thought. As Dean’s brother, probably that Cas was being pretentious. That was one of Dean’s favourite little light-hearted digs.

“Honour? Dude…” Chuck let out a little nervous laugh. “It was a show. I didn’t even know you -”

“It was my _life._ And you never took the time to know me. To find the person who made you able to book first-class seats and order three burgers instead of one and have an expensive laptop. That was _me._ ”

“I wrote my own books!”

“And after I sold out weeks’ worth of shows, they were bestsellers,” Cas said caustically. “But I’m sure you’re right. Going out of your _very important_ way to show compassion was _absolutely_ not necessary.”

“I had the right to choose -”

“Of course you had the right to choose,” Castiel snapped. “I only question whether you _were_ right to choose.”

“Uh - guys -” Sam said. “How about we just… cool off… Chuck did get us all the way here, Cas -”

Cas tightened his lips, and tried to calm himself down. Only moments before, speaking with Dean, the rest of the world hadn’t existed - and now he was at boiling point again, ready to use his limited martial arts training on something or someone.

“I made the decision that was best for me,” Chuck said, his tone too mixed to be readable.

“You acted out of selfishness and you show no remorse,” Cas snapped back. “You hurt people without thinking and all you can make is excuses, not apologies.”

“Guys, please - if we’re going to try to get a lift out of here -”

“OH. MY. GOD.” Suddenly, going off like a firework in the midst of their conversation, a new voice appeared - a young, female voice, coming from somewhere around Cas’ chest-height, sounding incredibly excited. “OH MY GOD. You’re Castiel Novak, aren’t you?”

“Um -” Cas said, frowning. “Sorry, do I -”

“No, no, you don’t know me. I’m just a _huge_ fan. Can I shake your hand? Please?”

“Uh…” Cas said, but the young woman was already sliding her hand into Cas’, and shaking it. She had a slim, cool palm.

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Bradbury. And I _cannot believe_ my life right now. Honestly, did I send up prayers to the right goddess during Dungeons and Dragons last night, or something?”

“Um - Charlie - Miss Bradbury - we were just -”

“Oh, have I interrupted something? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to... OH, MY GOD.” Charlie’s voice was suddenly high-pitched again; she didn’t shout, but the way she said the three words was somehow absolutely capitalised. “You’re - are you - are you Chuck Shurley? As in, author of _Angels_?”

“That’s me,” Chuck said, with too much smugness in his tone for Cas’ liking.

“Oh my god. Coolest moment of my life, _including_ the time I got kissed by Galadriel at Comic Con. Can I get a photo with you guys? Seriously, it would just make my _life._ ”

“Of course,” Cas said, only because he sensed that Chuck was about to say no. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, and Cas realised she was talking to Sam. “Am I forgetting some awesome character that you played in _Angels,_ or…?”

“No, no,” said Sam, and Cas could hear the relief in his voice that the arguing had stopped. “I’m just Cas’ boyfriend’s brother. I’m trying to help him meet up with my brother, see.” He began to back off; Cas wondered where he was going, until Sam added, “Cas, could you turn to your left?” He had to be taking the picture on Charlie’s camera. Cas shuffled round obediently.

“Do the angel face,” Charlie begged. “My friends are going to _freak._ We all absolutely love _Angels._ We roadtripped to New York just to see it. I still can’t believe the run ended. I swear getting tickets was still impossible when it closed. The audiences can’t have dried up.”

“Say cheese!” said Sam loudly, and Cas let his face fall into the familiar hard lines that he’d used when on the stage in _Angels._

“Done!” Sam said, and Charlie made a happy little clapping rhythm with her hands.

“You’re amazing. All of you. So, where did you say you were headed? To meet up with Castiel’s boyfriend?” She nudged him with her elbow, the jolt taking him by surprise.

Cas lifted one shoulder.

“We aren’t quite sure,” he said. “We need to drive east on Route Seventy Eight until we find ourselves going past a big black Chevrolet. But we have no car.”

“I can get us a -”

“We have no car,” repeated Cas, firmly, over the sound of Chuck grumbling.

“No… car?” Charlie said. Her voice was nice, Cas thought. Inquisitive and bright.

“Well - you see - I flew to Kansas to surprise Dean,” Cas said, readying himself to retell the tale once more. “And it turns out, Dean drove to New York, where I live, to surprise me. So we both ended up being surprised, and… and also not in the same state at all. So now we’re trying to meet in the middle before Christmas is over. Chuck helped me get this far. Dean’s been texting me to say that he’s met up with a girl I met in the queue for coffee at the airport this morning and they’re driving as close as they can get to Pittsburgh. Meanwhile, Chuck here…” Cas’ voice almost stuck with the resentment he felt, but he pushed through it. “Chuck has been very helpful. He gave us two tickets from Kansas to Pittsburgh. Except now there’s building up to be a snowstorm, and we don’t have a car, and it’s not looking likely that it’s going to work out at all.” He let out a breath, the tale told.

“This… this is amazing,” Charlie said.

“Um,” Sam said, at the same time as Chuck made a confused sound, and Cas replied,

“That is not the adjective I would have chosen.”

“Listen,” Charlie said, putting her hand on Cas’ arm. “Listen, I have a car. I can drive you.”

If he could have done so, Cas would have stared at her blankly. As it was, he hoped that Sam and Chuck were doing the job for him.

“Why would you do that?” Sam demanded. “Don’t you have something to do here?”

There was a slight rustle - a shrug, Cas guessed.

“All I was doing here was running away,” she said. “This sounds like way more fun.”

She sounded offhand, and careless. Cas didn’t trust her not to change her mind suddenly, to put them down in the middle of some Pennsylvanian field somewhere because things had suddenly become less _fun_ than she’d anticipated.

“Why would you want to help me?” he asked, hoping for a good answer - one that would change his mind.

“Are you kidding me? This is a _story,_ ” Charlie said. “This is fairytale."

"So...?"

"So, come on, how can I pass this up! We live our lives in greyness and dullness and there is literally no magic, anywhere. Only advertising says otherwise. Like, how many chances do we get to just make someone’s dream a reality, for once? Like, if you have the power to make that happen… oh, my god, I’m like your helpful side-character right now, aren’t I? I’m like… I’m like Galadriel. I’m Maz Kanata. I’m - I’m Cedric Diggory. Actually, no, let’s aim for more of a Professor Lupin. Why are both those characters dead? Uh, spoiler alert, sorry. I better not end up dead, that’s all I’m trying to say. And -”

“Okay, okay,” Cas said, raising a hand to stem the tide of chatter. “Alright.” He wasn’t sure exactly which part of Charlie’s monologue had convinced him, but there had been something steady, not flighty, in the excitement she’d shown. Cas offered her a small smile. “If you’re really prepared to take us - we’d appreciate your help.”

He could hear the grin on Charlie’s face when she replied, “I think you just made my whole life.”

*

Dean was sat in a diner, with his head in his hands.

Outside, the snowflakes fell in a blizzard that was too dense even to see through. They’d had to pull into a roadside diner, and hope for the storm to ease up.

“I think it’s slowing down,” Anna said hopefully, and took a sip of her milkshake. Dean reached for a fry and chewed on it expressionlessly. It wasn’t slowing down. It wasn’t even _close._

“Even if it stops,” Bobby said in a low voice, “I’m not sure we’ll be able to get anywhere. It’ll drift on the road. We won’t stand a chance of getting through without some kind of four-by-four, or somethin’.”

Dean’s mouth was dry as ashes. He checked his watch.

Nine forty-five. They had two hours and fifteen minutes to make it to wherever Cas was - and they couldn’t even be sure _where_ that was, because the snow had shorted out Dean’s mobile signal. Last he knew, they were both driving along the same road towards each other - but in this weather, that was still hours and hours apart, in all likelihood.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” said a slightly bored voice; their waitress, a blonde-haired girl with piercing blue eyes, was chewing gum and standing by their table, waiting.

“Try some pep, Claire,” said a voice from across the aisle of the slightly dingy diner. Leaning back to look around Claire, Dean saw a woman in a police uniform eating a donut and frowning over at their waitress. “Come on, it’s the holidays.”

“Yeah, and I still have to be working,” Claire said, sounding about as done with life in its entirety as Dean felt, at that point. “I’ll serve them Pepsi but I’m not doing it with any _pep._ ”

“Folks still need their food on Christmas, Claire. And you know you need the hours.”

“I need a better fucking job.”

The cop looked to Bobby, and raised her hand in apology.

“Sorry,” she said. “Claire’s a real special girl.”

“You’re not my mom, Donna,” Claire said, and disappeared back into the kitchen with a roll of her eyes.

Donna’s eyes followed her, looking wide and upset, and then she looked back to them and pasted a smile on her face.

“Kids, eh?” she said. “I help my wife run a home for her and girls like her just down the road, when I’m not, you know - doing cop stuff. We’re always understaffed and the kids don’t get the attention they need, you know? I’m worried about her.” She dabbed at her face with a napkin, removing perhaps a quarter of the powdered sugar that she had all around her mouth. “Anyway, you don’t care about that. Sorry to ramble. Jody’s always telling me to can it.”

“Don’t you worry,” Dean said, warming to her. She had a nice smile and she obviously cared about that girl with the bad attitude.

“What brings you folks out here in the snow, anyways?” Donna said, taking another large bite of donut. Dean opened his mouth, seeking for the words to explain; when he looked to the others for help, he realised that they were, unanimously, pointing at him.

“Me,” he said, meeting their gazes one by one. “I guess.”

He told Donna the story - as quickly as he could, though she didn’t seem to mind the sound of his voice.

“And so here we are. No idea how far away Cas is. Don’t even know if he’s still on the road. No idea how I’m ever gonna reach him now.”

Donna was shaking her head sadly.

“That breaks my heart,” she said. “Just wait til I tell Jodes. She’s gonna freak about this one, I’m telling you. She’ll go off at me, too, if I don’t give you a hand.”

“A hand?” Jo said, leaning over the table to speak for the first time. Anna made a small noise of annoyance, and lifted her milkshake off the table to prevent Jo’s hair from falling into it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean - I got a way to get you further down this road. I’m out here tonight because I’m the one who drives Big Beastie.”

“Big… Beastie?” Dean repeated, his eyebrows raised. “OK, if that’s some kind of reindeer or something, I am _not_ riding it.”

Donna laughed, and because she laughed, Anna and Jo laughed too. Dean glared at them.

“No, no,” Donna said. “Big Beastie’s a snow plough. She’ll see us through, along with whichever other people are crazy enough to be outside on a night like this. Let me finish my donut. The storm’s easing. We’ll take Claire home with us too.”

“Big Beastie,” was all Dean could say. The rest of his little gang were staring at him. He wondered if they, too, were wondering if he had some kind of lucky spell on him tonight.

Across the aisle, Donna chewed her donut contentedly.


	9. Chapter 9

“Pig of a night,” Charlie said, gunning the gas and pushing forward. The snow was lightening, now, but the wheels of Charlie’s powerful truck were spinning often on the compacted snow they were driving on, and visibility was still terrible - or so Cas gathered, as Charlie asked everyone in the car to ‘keep an eye out for moose and stuff’ ten minutes into the drive.

“It’s not great,” Chuck agreed. Cas set his teeth. How Chuck had managed to creep his way into Charlie’s car, Cas still didn’t understand. And because it had been agreed that Sam was the best at navigating, that meant that Chuck was in the back with Cas, filling him with distinctly unfestive feelings of irritation.

“Good thing I found you guys. Crazy luck. I almost didn’t go to the airport at all.”

“You didn’t?” Cas said. “Why were you even there?”

“I told you,” Charlie said lightly. “I was running away.”

When silence followed this pronouncement, Charlie sighed, obviously deciding to elaborate.

“I live in New York. I left the city to be with my family for the holidays, just the other side of Pittsburgh - well, my foster family, but they’ve raised me since - uh, well, since I was a kid and didn’t have anywhere else to go. They’re alright, but they’re….” Charlie swallowed audibly. “Yeah. Anyway. This year, I’d finally had enough. I left early, I was gonna fly home. Then the flights were delayed because of the storm, and - ta da, there were you guys. I almost didn’t check the airport at all for flights, though. I almost just decided to drive the whole way anyways.”

“I’m glad you stopped,” Cas said, with feeling. There was no way they could have made it through the blizzard and the resulting snowdrifts without Charlie’s help. “Your car is… really something.”

“Hermione stops for nothing and no one,” Charlie said, and Cas heard her pat the steering wheel affectionately. “She’s ruthless.”

They drove onwards some way in silence, making slow but definite progress. Eventually, Charlie reached out and switched on the stereo.

“No radio signal, I’ll bet,” she said. “So we’re stuck with my choice of tunes. It’s Christmas anthems all the way, this time of year, guys. Brace yourselves.”

The familiar notes of _All I Want For Christmas_ started playing, and Cas snorted.

“No laughing in the back,” Charlie said sternly. “Mariah Carey for Christmas is a serious business.”

Cas schooled his face, and nodded solemnly. He took off his sunglasses, which were starting to make his ears hurt.

_I don’t want a lot for Christmas… there is just one thing I need…_

“Castiel,” said Chuck, in a low voice.

Cas didn’t know precisely where to direct his death glare, but he gave it his best guess. From the way Chuck shifted, Cas guessed he’d hit his mark.

“Listen. I’ve been thinking about - about everything you said. About the play.”

Cas was silent.

“I know - I know now - that it changed everything for you. The fact that it got put on, and then the fact that it - you know - it got taken off.” Chuck cleared his throat. “I want - I want to try to make up for what I did without thinking. I want to help. Because I don’t want to be one of those - those _life’s like that, suck it up_ kind of people, you know? I don’t want to hurt people. And when I do, I wanna be the kind of person who makes up for it.”

Feeling himself unbending slightly, Cas turned his head towards Chuck to try to indicate that, as far as he was concerned, he was heading in the right direction.

“Listen, Cas. I know you loved the show. But the movie is going to make so many people happy. Think of all the fans from overseas who are going to get to see it. Think of all the people who can’t afford to go to the Lyceum, but can afford to go to the local cinema. It’s gonna spread the story, Cas! It won’t have to be exclusive and limited anymore. It’ll be there for so many more people.”

Cas inclined his head. Against his own heart, he could see the truth of this.

“And that’s why - why I want to know whether you’ll do it.”

Waiting for Chuck to elaborate produced no results. Cas frowned, and tilted his head.

“Do what?” he asked.

“The movie,” Chuck said. “Listen, nothing’s set in stone, and I’m not a casting director, but when I tell them that you’re the guy who made the show big on Broadway, I swear they’re going to fall over themselves to offer you the part. Plus I have a little more sway now, like I was saying earlier. So… will you do it? The movie?”

Cas listened to the sound of the tyres spinning on the ice, to Mariah Carey belting out her song on the stereo, to Charlie’s cursing as they slipped and skidded their slow way down the road.

“I’d have to move to Los Angeles?” he said slowly.

“For a while,” Chuck agreed. “Not too far from where Sam there will be going to school. Maybe, uh. Maybe Dean wouldn’t mind that kind of move, huh? Could even get yourself a new coat. Buy back that Impala.”

Cas breathed, slowly. _It’s not set in stone. Nothing is certain._

“I’ll think about it,” he said, with as much cool as he could muster.

*

“So I bet this is exactly what you planned on doing for Christmas,” Donna yelled, over the sound of the snow plough. Dean, crushed into the vehicle with Jo practically sitting on top of him and Anna’s elbow digging into his side, smiled painfully and shook his head.

“Not quite,” he yelled back, and Donna grinned.

“I like your hair,” Dean heard Anna say to the person on her other side - Claire, he thought.

“It’s not too bad,” Donna shouted. “The snow. It’s not actually too deep. Reckon you could make it through with a decent-sized car.”

“Baby’s decent,” Dean said indignantly.

“No, I don’t really plait it,” Dean heard Claire say. “Actually, I don’t know how.”

“Oh, it’s easy,” Anna said. “Three strands. Left, right, and middle. Now…”

“Leave the kid alone, Anna,” Jo said, trying to nudge her and accidentally catching Dean in the chest instead. “Is she making you come over all maternal?”

“I never got to teach a kid to plait hair before!” Anna said, her genuine happiness washing away the sting in Jo’s remark. “Have you ever thought about dyeing it?”

Claire's answer was drowned out by the sound of the snow plough's engine.

“So it’s real important you see your boyfriend tonight, huh?” Donna said, recapturing Dean’s attention.

“Yeah - well, I mean,” Dean said, “wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t important.”

“Christmas is a special time,” Donna said.

“Yeah. It is. I just -” Dean checked his watch. Eleven forty. Where had those hours gone? The snow plough was moving painfully slowly, it was true - and they’d had to wait for the storm to completely abate before setting out. “I really need to see him. It’s gonna be perfect.”

“Mom! I’m gonna dye my hair purple!” Claire shouted. Donna didn’t miss a beat.

“You ask your manager before you come within ten feet of hair dye,” she said, cheerily.

There was a beat without speech, filled with the roar of the plough.

“She called you Mom,” Dean said, low enough that he wouldn’t be heard over the engine. Donna grinned at him, her eyes twinkling.

“She does that when she wants something,” she said. “Or when she’s in a good mood. We’re nearly back at our place, now. Hey - are those headlights coming in the other direction?”

“Stop the plough,” Dean said, with a sudden knotted feeling in his stomach - a little twist of certainty in his chest. “Donna, _stop the plough._ ”


	10. Chapter 10

The snow plough was huge, and took up the entirety of the road. Cas could hear how big it was, even if he couldn’t see it. Charlie pulled to a halt early, not risking the chance of hitting a patch of ice at the wrong moment and careening right into it.

“I’ll go see what’s happening,” Sam said, unlocking the door. “Maybe they need us to turn round.”

“Got more chance of threading the needle in the Millenium Falcon,” Charlie said brusquely. “My reverse gear hates ice. Want me to come with you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and Cas heard them hop out of the car, boots crunching on the snow outside.

“Don’t slip,” Charlie called to Sam. Cas shivered as they slammed the doors closed behind them. The car’s heating system had seemed inefficient, until he felt the cold of the night outside.

“What’s happening?” Cas asked the one person left in the car, not wanting to be in the dark. His ears were of no use to him here.

“Sam’s making his way over there. Charlie’s a bit ahead. He’s slipping and sliding a lot. It’s taking him forever,” Chuck narrated. “They’re waving their arms at the snow plough. Someone’s opening the door. They’re - Sam’s almost there. Oh!”

“What?” Cas demanded. “Is Sam OK?! And Charlie?”

“No - yes - he’s fine! He just got... hugged?”

“Hugged?” Cas repeated blankly. “By… the snow plough driver? Are you sure he’s -”

“He’s turning around - he’s waving to us! And Charlie - someone else just got out of the snow plough and now they’re hugging, too?”

“What?” Cas felt as though he was seriously losing his grip on the proceedings, with everything spiralling out of his control just as much as it always inevitably did, eventually, without sight to help him.

“Sam - he’s making beckoning motions - he wants us to come over! It couldn’t be - do you think it’s -”

Cas opened his car door, and closed his eyes, and listened.

The sound of the car, engine still running, handbrake on.

The sound of Chuck breathing, in and out, a little harsher than usual in the cold.

The sound of footsteps - footsteps in the snow. Some heavy, some light, lots of them - but something familiar in one set, if Cas could just pick out that particular beat.

And then -

“Cas!”

The word was an electric shock, sparking up a fire in Cas’ chest. He grabbed his shoulder bag, got out of the car, and found himself standing on something that was almost ice. He tried to move, and nearly fell.

“Dean!” he called, almost instinctively.

“ _Cas!_ ”

It was enough. Cas began to move his feet - unsure at first, but picking up speed. He used his ears, kept listening for that pair of familiar boots, that stride he knew so well. He could hear other sounds - Charlie, calling for him to slow down, and Sam shouting something, and snow crunching, and the sound of his own hands fumbling in his bag and retrieving what he needed before casting the bag aside, throwing his arms out for balance as he kept going, kept going, kept _going -_

“Cas! CAS!”

“Dean!”

They struck each other before Cas was ready for it. He found himself half-running into Dean’s grip, strong hands that held his shoulders, that gathered him up, that pulled him in close.

Scent. Sound. Touch.

_Dean._

The relief was beyond physical; it was transcendent. Cas let out a shuddering breath, melting into the touch, his emotion so profound that he couldn’t even name it.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, his own arms coming up to grip Dean in return. “Dean. It’s _you._ ” There were sounds of other people approaching, but all Cas could focus on was the man he held in his arms.

“It’s me,” Dean said, his arms sinking to sit around Cas’ waist, pulling them together. “Holy shit. We did it. We _did_ it.”

Dean pulled back, just far enough that Cas could still feel his warm breath. He felt a _zing_ go up his spine, and reality asserted itself a little. Dean. _Dean._ He was really and truly - after all this time, after so much trouble and worry - standing in front of Dean.

Dean put his hand on Cas’ cheek.

“God,” he said, “it’s good to see you.”

Cas allowed himself a small smile.

“Well,” he said, “I would say the same, but…”

Dean snorted, and pulled him in for another hug. The crushing warmth of him, the way he held Cas - like he was something precious, but also unbreakable - it shook Cas to his core, just as much as it always had.

“Dean, I’ve got something to ask you,” Cas said.

“Okay,” Dean replied. “Me too. You first.”

Biting back his curiosity, Cas gripped the mistletoe harder in his hand, and raised it up to hang between himself and Dean. He cleared his throat, and said simply,

“Will you kiss me?”

A little puff of laughter.

"Yeah, Cas."

The way Dean leaned forwards was exactly the way Cas remembered it - unhurried, trusting, gentle - easing himself into Cas’ space before pressing a soft, slow kiss to his cold, cold lips. Cas dropped the mistletoe, cupping his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him in closer, demanding to be kissed harder, _now,_ because if he didn’t have Dean as close as he could possibly be, he thought he might break -

A few whistled and catcalls from nearby cooled them, and Dean pulled away with a smile on his face.

“My turn,” he said.

“Your turn?”

“To ask a question.”

Dean stepped back from Cas, who felt his heart misgive. Was this - surely Dean couldn’t doubt their relationship again now, couldn’t be wondering if Cas thought he was worthy - not after everything?

“Cas, I made a big deal out of today,” Dean said, and Cas tried to stop worrying and pay attention. “I’ve been driving everyone crazy with how I’ve been obsessing over wanting today to be perfect. I’ve been horrible company most of the time, because I’ve been so nervous. I’ve been ungrateful for all the luck and the kindness that I’ve been shown.”

There were calls from voices all around them, as though a group of people were standing in a big circle. Cas didn’t recognise half the voices - but they had to be with Dean, and if they’d helped Dean, then they were friends to Cas.

“Jo, do you just work insanely fast or something?” Dean asked, sounding momentarily distracted. “Didn’t tiny redhead arrive with Cas?”

“Tiny redhead has a name,” said Charlie’s voice. “And she also has a girlfriend, whom you seem to have conveniently brought with you from New York.”

“Jo’s girlfriend is _Charlie_?” Cas said, his mouth falling open.

“I know! I can’t believe my luck either!” Jo said, and Charlie laughed.

“Dork,” she said.

“Um,” Dean said, “can I… ?”

“Carry on,” Cas heard a familiar voice say.

“Hi, Anna!” he couldn’t help himself calling out.

“Hey, Cas! Did you know there’s a home for young girls around here and they’re understaffed?”

“Oh my god,” said a voice Cas didn’t know, a young one. “Are you - are you thinking of _staying_? That would be - uh, fine, I guess. But you should.”

“I might,” Anna said in reply, and Cas could hear her happiness. “I might. It’d be nice to live somewhere like that. Sounds kind of like a family.”

“ _Um,_ ” Dean said again, and Cas snapped back to what he was supposed to be doing. _Right._ Listening to Dean, who wanted to ask him something. To move to Kansas? Cas thought of Chuck’s offer, and he felt a little rush of worry. Would he have to say no? Maybe he could stay for a little while -

“Cas, there’s a reason I’ve been such a jerk today,” Dean said. “I was nervous. I was so nervous, because I had it all planned out, and then it all got screwed up, and we were miles apart when we were supposed to be right next to each other, and I wanted to do this in person, so… I was freaking out. But then… like always… you reminded me of what’s really important.” Cas felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder. “Us. How much I love you. How strong we are.”

There were approving noises coming from the circle around them, but Cas only had ears for Dean.

“Look, it’s not much,” Dean said. “Just a ten-dollar thing from the local store, I couldn’t afford better. Not yet. But I will. And on your finger, anything’d look pretty.”

It took a couple of seconds before Cas understood him.

“Dean,” he said, not certain - not quite certain - but suddenly, beautifully hopeful. “ _Dean._ ”

“Cas, I’m getting down on one knee.” Cas stood completely still, frozen by shock, and joy, and wonder. He heard the crunch of the snow as Dean knelt. He pressed his lips together tightly, so that he could hold himself together.

“Castiel Novak. I got lucky today so many times, but it’s still not the luckiest day of my life. That was the day I met you.”

“Dean…” Cas was losing the battle against the tears in his eyes.

“I love you, Cas. I love you so,” Dean took a breath, “ _so_ much. You are the light of my life.”

Cas had never really been able to see all the fuss about light. But when Dean said it like that, Cas thought he understood - for the first time, he understood about light. It was like Dean. It was warm. It was safe. It guided you home.

“Castiel - will you marry me?” Dean said, and Cas felt Dean gently nudge the ring against his hand, so that he’d know where it was.

The circle of onlookers were silent, watching with bated breath. Cas reached out, felt along Dean’s arm, and found his face. With one hand pressed to Dean’s cheek - Dean leaning into the touch, shaking with nerves - Cas uttered a single word. The most beautiful word he’d ever spoken, on the stage or off it.

“Yes,” he said.

And in the end, it was as simple as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no matter how strange, difficult, or unfathomable the coming year will be, I hope that there will always be a little serendipity to give you the strength to carry on. and if not, I hope that you at least have people that you can rely on absolutely to love you right, and get you through.
> 
> here's to a 2017 met with determination and love. thank you for reading!


End file.
